


Stay Irresponsible

by ShowMeAHero



Series: Stay Irresponsible [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Almost smut, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Barricades, Bromance, College AU, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Pre-Slash, Protests, Sickfic, Slash, Smut-ish, Suicidal Thoughts, There's A Car Accident In One Chapter But It's Not Graphic, Violence, brotps everywhere, this literally just rubs brotps all over you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 80,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis share a college, share a house, and share their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Everyone Meets Cosette

**Author's Note:**

> The title was taken from "Cosmopolitan Greetings" by Allen Ginsberg.  
> I wanted to do a multi-chapter, chronological, building story. Ta-da.  
> If you ever want to see anything specific, just drop me a line.  
> I'll add necessary tags as I go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire wears sunglasses inside, Jehan gets philosophical, Gavroche is the world's loudest gossip, and Enjolras just wants one meeting to last until the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the general mandatory setting up of the story. Drag yourself through it, you'll have a lovely time.

Enjolras was usually the first person at the cafe for their meetings; he dragged the tables together, set out the stacks of flyers, and hung up his plans which he had written out on large posters, and he did all this alone. Therefore, it came as a shock when he arrived in the upper floor of the Musain and found Grantaire and Eponine already there. Eponine was sitting at one of the smaller tables, half-asleep, scrolling absently through messages on her phone; Grantaire was sitting beside her with sunglasses on despite the fact that they were indoors. He was drawing absently in a sketchbook with a blunt pencil in his left hand while his right hand held onto a coffee mug tightly.

“Good morning,” Enjolras greeted them with surprise. He dropped his box on the bar and began pulling out his supplies.

“Nothing’s good about it,” Grantaire grumbled at his sketchbook. Eponine rolled her eyes.

“He’s hungover,” Eponine explained to Enjolras, whose expression did not change.

“Is he ever not?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire finally looked up at him and scowled.

“I’m not always hungover. Most times, I’m drunk.” Grantaire held up his coffee mug. “Working on that now.”

“It’s a little early,” Enjolras said, but he knew it really did not matter. Grantaire pointedly took a sip from his mug and put it back down on the table.

“Drunk is better than hungover, my friend,” Grantaire smiled at Enjolras half-heartedly and returned to his drawing. Eponine dragged herself up from the table to help Enjolras with his setup.

“Marius said he’s bringing Cosette today,” Eponine said with forced casualness.

“Mm,” Enjolras hummed in agreement, tacking up his posters. It seemed today’s meeting would be about a protest taking place in two weeks. Eponine hauled two stacks of flyers out of the box. “Wasn’t she-”

“Yes, my foster sister. Before she got adopted,” Eponine finished for him. Enjolras nodded once to her and seemed perfectly content to continue working in silence.

“Do I have a class today?” Grantaire asked loudly after ten minutes of uninterrupted quiet.

“Yes, you have a Philosophy and Religion class at 2:00 with me, and a three-hour studio session at 5:00,” Enjolras answered automatically, still focused on pinning up his posters. Eponine looked up at him with surprise. Grantaire just mumbled his thanks and let his head fall onto the table.

The group of eleven had met by chance. Grantaire had met Eponine when he found her crying in the back room of a bar at the beginning of their freshman year. Eponine and Marius had been friends since high school, and Grantaire had come to know the rest from there. Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras had grown up together, and Marius was Courfeyrac’s roommate freshman year; he became friends with the rest quickly. Jehan had answered their first flyer, and he brought along with him Bahorel, Feuilly, and Joly; Joly, in turn, brought Bossuet. By mid-October of their freshman year, the group became tight-knit and nearly inseparable. Though they were all vastly different in some aspects, they were all also quite similar in others, and they all contained an untamable passion that kept them all together. They also had different plans for education; it was only luck they all ended up at the same school.

Enjolras was a double major in Sociology with a concentration in Social Inequality and in Interdisciplinary Liberal Studies with a concentration in Peace and Intercultural Relations, as well as a double minor in Philosophy and French. Grantaire was a general Art major, with a minor in Philosophy, “for fun”. Marius was a Sociology major with a concentration in Life Course Studies, which is how he met Cosette - they shared the same choice. Jehan was an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing, with a minor in Speech Communication. Courfeyrac was a Psychology major, with a double minor in History and Political Science. Combeferre, like Enjolras, had a major in Sociology with a concentration in Social Inequality, but he had a minor in Art History, much to his friends’ surprise. Eponine was a major in Social Work; Bahorel was a major in Pre-Law; Joly was a major in Nursing. Feuilly was, like Grantaire, a general Art major, but with a minor in Interactive Multimedia. Bossuet was a Chemistry and Physics major with a Biochemistry concentration, and a Physics minor. Gavroche, Eponine’s little brother, thought they were all out of their minds.

The eleven of them, plus Gavroche, and soon, Cosette, all lived in a house directly off-campus, where they split the rent and shared the room. It was a quiet town and a nice place to be in general, especially since Enjolras kept his protests away from there, choosing to stage them in the city right next door when they were necessary.

Enjolras had gotten there at 10:30; everyone else had piled into the cafe by 11:00, shoved into the tables. Bossuet was flirting with Musichetta, the charming woman who owned the Musain, at the bar; Joly was watching them with amusement. He, Bossuet, and Musichetta had become a thing at the end of freshman year, and nobody really cared all that much. Gavroche was climbing onto Courfeyrac’s back while Jehan wrote on Courfeyrac’s arm with a Sharpie - the two of them had been dating since freshman year, as well. Eponine and Grantaire were sitting with Marius and Cosette at the table Grantaire had not left since Enjolras had arrived. The rest of the boys were stuffed around two tables, loudly debating the merits of the characters in Mario Kart. Enjolras stood beside his posters and clapped his hands together; the group quieted almost at once and turned their attention to him, save for Grantaire, who simply flipped to a fresh page in his sketchbook and began drawing something new. He only looked up at Enjolras every so often.

“Good morning, everyone,” Enjolras began, and everyone muttered tired greetings in return. “Before we start, I’d like to point out our new member, Cosette.” Enjolras held his hand out towards Cosette; Marius urged her to stand up, and so she did. She smiled at the group and gave a little wave. She moved to sit down, but Enjolras beckoned her forwards, so she walked up to him instead. Enjolras stuck his hand out, and Cosette shook it.

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Cosette said softly; Enjolras grasped her hand in both of hers and smiled.

“Thank you for joining us in our quest to change the world,” Enjolras replied. Grantaire snorted in the back of the room.

“At least _try_ not to sound like an adventure hero and just tell her what we really do.” Grantaire lifted his head to meet Cosette’s eyes as the blonde turned around to see who had spoken. “We stage protests and shit so that maybe someone might catch on that the world has gone to hell and do something about it. We are so far unsuccessful.”

“And we will continue to be unsuccessful with that attitude, Grantaire,” Enjolras argued steadily. Grantaire pushed his sunglasses through his hair to rest on top of his head so that he could make eye contact with Enjolras.

“Or we will realize that we fight a losing battle, Enjolras,” Grantaire said bitterly. He and Enjolras held each others’ eyes for a silent moment before Enjolras returned his attention to Cosette.

“In any case, we are glad to have you here, supporting our causes in any way you can.” Enjolras tightened his grip on her hand briefly before releasing her. Cosette began to return to her table in the back, but Courfeyrac snagged her before she could make it; he pulled her into the seat beside his own. Gavroche was immediately next to her, folding colorful pieces of paper that he had stolen from Feuilly into a flower and sticking it into her shirt. Jehan took her wrist and began writing poetry onto her forearm. Courfeyrac just grinned at her.

“You’re one of us now,” Courfeyrac told her in a low voice. Cosette nodded and looked down at her freshly ink-stained arm.

“I think I quite like it here,” Cosette said finally, lifting her head back up, and Courfeyrac clapped her on the shoulder. “I’m a little confused, though.”

“Aren’t we all?” Jehan sighed softly. Courfeyrac ignored him and leaned in closer to Cosette.

“About what? Let’s see if I can’t help you out.” Courfeyrac smiled his toothy shark’s grin at her, and Cosette’s eyes flickered over to Grantaire for a moment before coming back.

“Why is Grantaire here if he doesn’t believe in the cause?” Cosette asked quietly. Courfeyrac looked over his shoulder at Grantaire, found him still drawing, and turned back to Cosette.

“He doesn’t believe in the cause, sure, but he believes in Enjolras. That’s the only reason he’s here,” Courfeyrac explained. Jehan nodded quietly, humming to himself; they were the only table not paying attention to Enjolras, but their leader seemed to be letting that slide for now. “Grantaire’s got nothing else. He always says he doesn’t believe in anything except the bottom of a bottle, but we all know it’s really Enjolras. There’s something about him that just makes Grantaire... believe in something.”

“Does he love Enjolras?” Cosette asked in as low a voice as she could pull together. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow and leaned back.

“See, that’s not the big question here. Without a doubt, Grantaire loves Enjolras.” Courfeyrac glanced up at Enjolras. “The real question is, does Enjolras love Grantaire?”

“It certainly doesn’t seem like it,” Cosette murmured. Courfeyrac raised a hand.

“But this is how they always are,” Courfeyrac informed her. Jehan bowed his head closer to the conversation.

“They’re opposites, but you know what they say about opposites,” Jehan offered. Cosette smiled at the long-haired poet sitting across from her.

“Okay, another question. Does Eponine not like me?” Cosette asked. Courfeyrac shrugged.

“You’d have to ask her. Or Marius, or Grantaire.” Courfeyrac took a sip from his water bottle, which probably contained anything but water, knowing him. “Don’t you two know each other?”

“When I was in the system, we were in the same foster system before her parents took her back and I got adopted.” Cosette looked down at her hand, which Gavroche was currently playing with. Gavroche tipped his head back to look at her.

“‘Ponine doesn’t mind you. She just loves Marius,” Gavroche said, loudly, with the bluntness of children. Jehan clamped a hand over Gavroche’s mouth immediately, but everyone in the room had already heard and fell silent. Eponine immediately stood up from her table and ran down the stairs behind her. Courfeyrac slapped the back of Gavroche’s head; the little boy scowled up at him. Marius looked shell-shocked, but he got up anyways to trip down the stairs after Eponine.

“I...” Enjolras threw his hands up in the air. “Fine, meeting adjourned. Someone fix this.”

Gavroche stood from the table and ran over to Enjolras, throwing his small arms around the leader’s legs. “I’m sorry.”

Enjolras looked bewildered, but he rested a hand on top of Gavroche’s messy head and looked up helplessly. Jehan took pity on him and picked Gavroche up.

“Let’s go find you some lunch, alright, kiddo?” Jehan asked, letting Gavroche settle on his hip before taking off down the stairs towards the restaurant section of the Musain. The remaining boys in the room all turned to Cosette.

“Sorry about that,” Enjolras finally offered to her. Cosette frowned, her face soft and sad.

“No, I’m sorry.” Cosette looked down at her hands. “I’d go after her, but I think I’d just make it worse.”

“You might, but that’s okay. We still like you,” Courfeyrac assured her, standing and kissing her forehead. Bahorel, Feuilly, Joly, and Bossuet began working with Musichetta to clean up the flyers; Cosette, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre moved over to the wall to pull down posters - Cosette kept looking over at the stairs worriedly. Enjolras watched her for a moment before he went over to Grantaire, to ask after Eponine; he knew the two were close. Enjolras sat down beside him and began talking to him in low tones. Enjolras’ eyes scanned the table and landed on Grantaire’s sketchbook briefly. For just a moment, he looked at the perfect rendering of himself standing in front of the group. Grantaire reached out and slammed the sketchbook shut upon noticing Enjolras’ eyes on it. Enjolras just stared up at Grantaire instead.

“If he didn’t know Eponine was in love with him before this, he’s more spaced out than I thought,” Courfeyrac teased. Cosette frowned at him, but otherwise did not speak.

“I’m going to go find her,” Grantaire announced suddenly, stumbling back from Enjolras and the table. He grabbed his sketchbook, shoved his sunglasses back over his eyes, and took off down the stairs without a second glance. Enjolras glared at the empty mug Grantaire left behind before standing up and beginning to clean in a fury. Nobody spoke to him.

* * *

“‘Ponine, wait!” Marius shouted, taking off at a run down the sidewalk. Eponine stopped with a sigh and rubbed furiously at her eyes for a moment before Marius got to her.

“I’m sorry about what Gavroche said, he shouldn’t’ve-” Eponine began, but Marius shook his head and cut her off.

“It’s alright. I just... I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have brought Cosette if I’d known.” Marius put a hand on her shoulder, and Eponine closed her eyes.

“Don’t apologize to me.” Eponine yanked herself back, away from Marius’ hand. Her eyes opened wide and looked up at him. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m still sorry,” Marius said softly. Eponine’s face crumpled almost immediately; Marius pulled her against him in a hug. She hesitated before she wrapped her arms around him in return, burying her face into his chest.

“I’m sorry, too,” Eponine whispered into his coat. Marius kissed the top of her head. “I really do like Cosette.”

“I know, ‘Ponine, I know,” Marius assured her, rubbing her back. “What do you want to do?”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” Eponine answered truthfully. Marius just nodded and looked up at the sound of someone calling his and Eponine’s names; he saw Grantaire half-jogging down the street.

“Hey, hi, I’m here,” Grantaire said breathlessly. “Sorry, smoker’s lungs, you know how it is.”

Eponine leaned back from Marius and looked up at his face for a long moment before she stepped back and transferred to Grantaire, who put an arm around her shoulders and bowed his head to look into her eyes.

“I’m sorry, ‘Ponine,” Marius repeated. He kissed her forehead and took off down the sidewalk. Grantaire pulled her close to his side.

“You alright?” Grantaire asked, his deep voice low and quiet. Eponine nodded against him.

“Just distract me,” Eponine mumbled as Grantaire began leading them back to their house.

“Enjolras saw a drawing of him in my sketchbook before I left,” Grantaire offered. Eponine gasped and slapped at his chest.

“Tell me _everything_ ,” Eponine insisted at once. Grantaire kissed the top of her head and dragged her through the front door of their house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, if you want to see anything specific in this series, drop me a line. I'll be more than happy to see what I can do.  
> The college majors/minors/classes I gave them are stolen right from Salem State majors/minors/classes.


	2. The One Where Peaceful Protests Just Can't Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire paints on everyone's shirts, Eponine and Cosette use American flags for dirty reasons, Courfeyrac hates when people muck up his car, and Enjolras is covered in tomato sauce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're really getting into the swing of things here.  
> Please don't flash your boobs in public using an American flag. Or, at least, if you do, do it for a good reason. Also, don't hold me responsible for the idea.  
> This is the protest that was taking place in two weeks that was mentioned in "The One Where Everyone Meets Cosette".

“Do you have your megaphone?” Combeferre asked, pinning on his large button for the Students Against Rape protest. Enjolras nodded and held up said megaphone just as Grantaire stumbled into the room, tugging on a hand-painted t-shirt that read _“Consent Is Sexy”_  in bright red letters.

“At least you’re getting involved,” Enjolras commented dryly before tugging on his vibrant crimson jacket. Grantaire pulled a flask from his wide back pocket and took a long pull from it; Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Get the others out of the kitchen, please, Grantaire. We’re leaving in ten minutes,” Combeferre instructed. Grantaire nodded at him before wandering off in the direction of their small kitchen where the rest of their clan was crowded.

“Leaving in ten minutes, guys,” Grantaire announced, his voice loud but rough. Cosette snatched his flask from his back pocket and handed him a mug of coffee.

“Drink it and sober up a bit before we go,” Cosette ordered him. When he hesitated, she motioned impatiently towards the mug, and he began to drink for fear of Cosette’s wrath.

“I should probably steal some of that,” Courfeyrac spoke up. Jehan frowned at him.

“It is nine o’clock in the morning,” Jehan scolded. Courfeyrac shrugged and accepted the hot mug of coffee handed to him by Cosette.

“Exactly. It’s too early for this shit.” Courfeyrac punctuated his statement by taking a sip of his coffee before draining the whole mug. “Damn, Cosette, that’s good. Marius, marry her, if for no other reason than her skills in the kitchen.” Courfeyrac paused. “That’s not anti-feminist. It’s true. If I was anti-feminist, I’d say ‘Ponine’s good in the kitchen, too. But she’s dreadful.”

“Asshole,” Eponine muttered around a mouthful of toast. Jehan slapped the back of Courfeyrac’s head.

“Come on, guys!” Combeferre called from the living room. Feuilly grumbled and dragged himself out of the kitchen, the rest of the group following after him; all of them were wearing the same shirts as Grantaire, all hand-painted by the artist himself. The backs all said  _“Ask, Listen, Respect”_  in the same painted red handwriting. Grantaire smiled at them before grabbing a handful of Jehan’s blood-red flowers from the vase in the middle of their living room.

“What the hell are those for?” Enjolras asked, his eyes lingering on Grantaire’s paint-stained hands for a moment.

“Didn’t you ever hear of the Carnation Revolution? Fight them with peace, not with violence, all that hippie shit.” Grantaire looked down at the flowers in his hand before plucking a small one with a short stem from the bunch and slipping it into Enjolras’ blonde curls. “See? The Portuguese were really onto something with this one.”

“I don't think it’s such a bad idea,” Jehan offered. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“We’re not fighting with violence, we’re fighting with words and numbers and passion.” Enjolras met the eyes of every person in the room in a brief moment of silence. Jehan was braiding his hair over his shoulder when Grantaire stuck a flower in it, earning a smile from the poet and a frown from Enjolras. “We’re going to win without violence.”

Jehan was close enough to hear Grantaire mutter, “But it always ends up violent anyways,” but he did not comment on that, or on the fact that Enjolras did not remove the flower tucked into his hair.

* * *

“This is the year twenty-thirteen!” Enjolras was shouting from the top of a parked car to the crowd gathered beneath him. His friends were interspersed throughout the crowd, screaming at the tops of their lungs. “Are we still going to let old ways slide by? Are the strong and the ignorant going to continue being allowed to take advantage of the rest of us?”

“No!” The crowd all shouted in reply. Enjolras held his megaphone away from his mouth for a moment as a cop eyed him. He hesitated before bringing the megaphone up again and raising his fist in the air.

“We must break the silence on this unnecessary violence!” Enjolras exclaimed into the megaphone, ignoring the cops coming closer. “The hateful things being done to women and men alike are revolting, unlawful, and morally bankrupt! We must change the ways of the laws and offer support to the victims, not to the rapists!”

The crowd all screamed, raising their fists just like Enjolras was. He looked up at the cops again just as Eponine noticed them for the first time; without thinking, she grabbed Cosette’s hand and swiped at her ear in a signal they had previously established. Cosette nodded, pulled two American flags from her satchel, and hurried, with Eponine, to pull their clothes off. Once they were bare, much to the surprise of the people immediately surrounding them, they wrapped the American flags around themselves and let Grantaire and Courfeyrac hoist them up onto the car beside Enjolras.

This was a plan they had prepared for; rather than see the whole crowd get violent, like the two of them knew everyone was expecting, they would flash everyone as both a show of protest and a distraction for the cops. They got up on either side of Enjolras and pulled the flags off of them. Marius was the only one who looked absolutely shocked; everyone else cheered. The cops were shoving through the crowd in an instant, dragging them down from the car and handcuffing them while Marius tried desperately to shove his t-shirt on Eponine and his jacket onto Cosette. His efforts only got him shoved away from them by a cop, which made Eponine kick the man in the shin in return. He turned on her, which made Cosette panic and kick him in the back of the knee. He turned around and Marius acted instinctually, punching the tall, muscular man right in the nose.

Everything was silent for a split second before all hell broke loose.

Enjolras was off the car and in the crowd before anyone could blink, shouting things no one could hear as he fought to pull people apart and keep his protesters from getting injured. Eponine had worked out of her handcuffs and was helping Cosette to jimmy out of hers when two women in uniform came up to them; Musichetta seemed to act without thinking, launching herself at the women, and Joly panicked immediately. Bossuet struggled to hold him back, but Joly slipped away to tear Musichetta away from the women. He got knocked in the side of the head with a baton for his efforts, and Musichetta helped Bossuet and Feuilly hoist him up and get him out of the fray. Marius grabbed Eponine and Cosette both by the shoulders and directed them towards the four others off to the side.

Bahorel was trying to pull Combeferre off of a dark-haired male cop who he was punching repeatedly in the face while Grantaire pulled a similarly large man off of Jehan, who was being kicked in the stomach. The man rounded on Grantaire almost automatically, but Courfeyrac was busy dragging Jehan off to the side with Joly. Enjolras came to the side where he saw his friends and took a headcount before turning back to the crowd.

“Enjolras-” Combeferre began, but Enjolras had already disappeared back into the crowd. He returned ten minutes later, a couple more darkened areas of skin and bloody spots on him as he hauled Grantaire over to the rest of them.

“Give me two minutes,” Enjolras shouted at them before clambering back up onto the car he had been giving his rallying speech on. He accepted the megaphone when Combeferre tossed it up to him, and he flipped it on and held it to his mouth. “Friends! This is a peaceful assembly which has quickly gone wrong, and we must stop our violence to stop all violence!”

To his surprise, the crowd quieted within minutes, the fighting coming to a stop. Enjolras sighed and held up a hand, palm facing out in a peaceable motion.

“We came here to protest violence, and we have failed! But we still have a chance to succeed, my friends.” Enjolras made eye contact with one of the cops standing by his car. “Sir, what chance do we have of parting as friends, rather than all going to your station as enemies?”

The cop glared at him. “You attacked us.”

“And you attacked us as well! We have both done wrong, and you cannot take us all in!” Enjolras exclaimed in reply. The cop made his way through the crowd and stood before the car. Enjolras dropped his megaphone and knelt down to speak with him.

“Listen, we’ve got to make arrests here. We’ll arrest the two women for public indecency, and you for orchestration. But we don’t have to arrest anyone else. How’s that sound?” The cop offered quietly. Enjolras nodded and motioned for Cosette and Eponine to come over as he slipped from the roof of the car.

“We’re just going to make a quick trip downtown,” Enjolras murmured softly in the girls’ ears as they were handcuffed and read their rights. The two nodded at him and allowed themselves to be led away towards the cop cars. Enjolras managed one last look over at the sidelines where people were being woken up or tended to, including his own friends, before he was shoved into the back of the Crown Victoria with Eponine and Cosette.

* * *

“I’m always the one who has to bail you out, you jackass,” Courfeyrac was grumbling at Enjolras as he signed the necessary forms at the front desk of the police station. Enjolras was leaning beside him, rubbing at his sore jaw. Cosette and Eponine were frantically dressing in the women’s bathroom into the clothes Courfeyrac had brought with him.

“What about the girls?” Enjolras asked. Courfeyrac shrugged and handed the pen and forms back over to the clerk, who waved them off.

“They did what they thought was best, I suppose,” Courfeyrac offered. Enjolras glared at him for a moment.

“You got to see their boobs,” Enjolras grumbled. Courfeyrac grinned, the effect not at all ruined by his black eye.

“I got to see their boobs,” Courfeyrac parroted. He held up his hand and was not deterred when Enjolras did not high-five him; he simply raised his other hand and high-fived himself as Cosette and Eponine reappeared in large sweaters and tight pants.

“Aren’t those Jehan’s?” Enjolras asked, brow furrowing slightly. Courfeyrac looked them over for a moment.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I was in our room when you called, so I just grabbed some stuff from his drawers and left him with Combeferre.” Courfeyrac ran a hand through his hair, his grin gone. “He hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Damn it,” Enjolras growled under his breath. “Did-”

“No, Joly and Grantaire haven’t yet, either,” Courfeyrac answered before he could ask the question. Enjolras nodded quietly and climbed into the passenger seat of Courfeyrac’s small death trap while Eponine and Cosette scrambled past the driver’s seat into the tiny back seat. “I said we should take them to a hospital, Combeferre’s fighting us on it.”

“We’ll see how they are when we get back,” Enjolras murmured, letting his head rest against the car window and his eyes slip shut. Courfeyrac looked over and slapped him on the leg.

“Stay awake until we figure out if you have a concussion. You’re not dying in my car,” Courfeyrac scolded. Enjolras frowned at him but kept his eyes open anyways, though his head remained on the window the rest of the ride back to their house.

Their house was a very old, very haunted-looking three-story place. The first floor contained two bathrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a den, and an office; the second floor contained three bedrooms, which housed Cosette and Marius, Eponine and Gavroche, and Jehan and Courfeyrac; the third floor contained three more bedrooms, which housed Bossuet and Joly, Feuilly and Combeferre, and Bahorel and Grantaire; there was a doorway at the end of the third-floor hallway that led to a small attic, which was used as Enjolras’ bedroom. While he considered taking the office downstairs as his bedroom, the privacy of the attic was something he both appreciated and enjoyed. Plus, the office space was only really used by him, and he enjoyed that, as well; this way, he gets two spaces.

Courfeyrac helped Enjolras up the stairs to the second floor, where he abandoned him with Cosette and Eponine in order to check on Jehan. He appeared back in the doorway of their room a moment later.

“He’s awake,” Courfeyrac informed them. “Go check on Joly and Grantaire.”

Cosette was immediately assaulted in the hallway by Marius, who looked at Eponine for a brief moment before dragging Cosette into their shared bedroom. Eponine looked hurt for a moment before Gavroche came barrelling down the steps from the third floor and threw himself at his sister in the small hallway.

“‘Ponine, you gotta stop pulling shit like this,” Gavroche scolded. Eponine laughed.

“I’d tell you to watch your mouth, but it’s no use,” Eponine said as she lifted her ten-year-old brother up. “What were you doing upstairs?”

“Watching Joly try to wake up Grantaire.” Gavroche leaned in. “Joly’s got a nasty split in his head, ‘Ponine. It’s really disgusting.”

“I bet it is. Joly’s probably pretty pissed, huh?” Eponine asked as she set Gavroche down and the two of them trailed after Enjolras up the stairs to the third floor. He shoved open the door to Grantaire and Bahorel’s room and immediately pounded the side of his fist against the door.

“Goddamnit, I knew I didn’t get there fast enough,” Enjolras spat. Eponine rubbed his arm as Gavroche squeezed past the both of them.

“We’re all alright, Enjolras. Just give him a little while more, I think he got a blow to the head. Those are worse than normal, you know,” Joly said tiredly from the folding chair he had set up beside Grantaire’s small bed. Bossuet was watching Joly with worried eyes, and Musichetta kept herself busy with cleaning up Bossuet’s bloody face, only darting concerned looks to Joly every now and then.

“You look terrible, Joly. You should lie down,” Enjolras said, coming over to the nursing student and tipping his head back slightly so that he could see the dark bruise that had bloomed on the side of Joly’s head. “See, this is nowhere near as graphically terrifying as Gavroche described.”

“He looks like a bruised banana,” Gavroche snickered from beside Musichetta, who whacked him with the washcloth she was using. Gavroche made a startled noise and tripped over a stack of books; Bossuet caught him with ease.

“Bahorel and Feuilly are downstairs making dinner, if you’d like,” Musichetta offered. “I think Combeferre’s showering, so I’d leave him be for now.”

“I’ll stay here,” Enjolras said, picking his way through the piles of law books and art supplies to sit on Bahorel’s unmade bed. He reached over the short distance between the two beds to push Grantaire’s hair out of his bloody face. “He looks different sober, huh?”

“He doesn’t look as guarded,” Musichetta agreed. Eponine hummed.

“Joly looks angry when he’s asleep,” Bossuet offered cheerfully. Joly glared at him, but it quickly dissolved into a smile in the face of Bossuet’s contagious happiness that sprung from Joly’s consciousness.

“I probably do,” Joly agreed before returning his attention to Grantaire. “He’s going to be fine, I promise. I’m a doctor, remember?”

“Nurse,” Eponine corrected.

“Nursing  _student_ ,” Enjolras said, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face, which made Musichetta grin widely at him in return.

“Wow, look at this one!” Gavroche exclaimed from the corner of the room, holding up a brightly-colored painting of a bloodied man holding a flag, standing on top of a stack of broken furniture - an old barricade, Enjolras realized belatedly. “Did R do this?”

“He did, I remember him working on that one,” Eponine answered, taking it from her younger brother and examining it before turning it around. “He’s truly very talented.”

“If only he’d work that in without drinking,” Enjolras commented. Grantaire’s face twisted into a small frown.

“I do my best work drunk, don’t patronize me when I’m not even awake,” Grantaire grumbled, forcing his eyes open and immediately shutting them again. “Goddamn, it’s bright.”

Eponine handed the painting back to Gavroche, who put it back in its place before hurrying to Grantaire’s side; he squeezed in between Grantaire’s bed and Enjolras, much to the leader’s dismay.

“You’re a hero, R! ‘Chetta said so!” Gavroche exclaimed. Grantaire opened one eye just barely and raised his eyebrows at the boy.

“Did she, now? We’ll have to get that in writing,” Grantaire laughed, his voice hoarse but just as deep and rhythmic as it always was.

“Good luck with that,” Musichetta murmured. Grantaire scowled, and Bossuet just laughed before Musichetta hit him with the washcloth and told him to keep still and stop making noise.

“I’m hungry. Can I eat? Am I allowed to eat? Where’s Joly?” Grantaire made to turn his head, but Joly reached out and held it down to stop him. “Asshole. Let go.”

“Don’t move until I can fully examine you,” Joly ordered. To Enjolras’ surprise, Grantaire listened, and he let himself be examined by the nursing student. Enjolras sat back and watched the scene before him unfold with a thickness in his throat that almost made it hard to breathe; he stood up abruptly when Joly was nearly finished. Grantaire followed his movements with both of his now-fully-open eyes.

“I’m going to help Bahorel and Feuilly with dinner,” Enjolras managed to get out before leaving the small, crowded room and escaping into the hallway. Being nothing less than a man of his word, he made his way down to the kitchen on the first floor; neither Bahorel nor Feuilly said anything when they saw the look on his face.

* * *

A half an hour and four large frozen pizzas later found the group of fourteen crowded into their small kitchen, laughing and telling stories of their fighting conquests at the protest. Grantaire was busy braiding Jehan’s hair and tucking flowers into it while Gavroche enthusiastically fed him pizza - which mostly ended up on Grantaire’s face, not that he minded. Courfeyrac was half-feeding pizza to Jehan, half-feeding it to himself, and Jehan could not keep the dopey smile off his face. Eponine was braiding Cosette’s hair and, to the group’s surprise, receiving pointers from Grantaire on how to do a French braid. Cosette was, in turn, reaching back now and then to feed pizza to Eponine, while Marius fed pizza to Cosette.

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta were all shoved into one chair - a modern marvel - and were feeding each other, though more of their mouths were used than Enjolras thought was strictly necessary. Even Bahorel and Feuilly had decided to get in on the fun and feed each other, despite having no romantic entanglements with each other - they were just friends. Combeferre looked up at Enjolras after a moment, the two of them being the only ones left eating alone. Enjolras barely had enough time to say  _no_  before he had a piece of pizza shoved into his face, and the whole room full of people cheered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is going somewhat along the lines I desired. Amen.


	3. The One Where Grantaire Brings About The Next Black Plague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras cannot seem to fall asleep on the piano bench, Courfeyrac comes very close to breaking the sixth commandment, Cosette is the big spoon, and Marius and Gavroche build a barricade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is why you don't break the commandments, kids.  
> (says the atheist writing about a plethora of gay people fighting against the government)  
> (I don't understand religious stories very well anyways)

Friday night found Enjolras sitting as his desk in his attic bedroom, working on a paper that was due on Monday and half-listening to the faint strains of piano music coming from the first floor. He had barely been paying attention to the music until it stuttered to a sudden stop in the middle of the piece. He lifted his head, confused, and debated going downstairs. He looked at his stack of papers and sighed before jogging down the three flights of stairs to the first floor.

“Is everything alright down here?” Enjolras called, finding no one sitting at the piano in the living room. “Hello?” Enjolras lifted his head when he saw Joly run past him towards the kitchen, watching his pass with confusion. “Joly?”

“Not now,” Joly nearly shouted at him, his step not faltering. Enjolras followed after him into the kitchen, curious now. He found Grantaire vomiting into the sink.

“Oh, Jesus,” Enjolras exclaimed, backing up towards the doorway. Joly glared at him and shooed Jehan away from Grantaire where the poet was calmly braiding Grantaire’s hair with one hand and rubbing his back with the other. “How drunk is he?”

“I’m not drunk, shithead. Go away,” Grantaire growled at him. Joly was frantically pressing his hand to Grantaire’s forehead.

“I think he’s sick,” Joly announced worriedly. Grantaire shot a look at him.

“Yeah, no-” Grantaire began, but he was cut off almost at once as he began vomiting into the sink again. Jehan cooed at him and started rubbing his back again.

“Keep Gavroche upstairs, Enjolras, and get Eponine or Cosette,” Joly ordered. Enjolras hesitated, but, at the look Joly gave him, turned around and went right back upstairs to the second floor. He could faintly hear Joly snap at Jehan to “ _Stop touching him, damn it,_ ” as he left.

“Cosette? Eponine?” Enjolras asked loudly in the second-floor hallway, slowly pushing open the door to Marius and Cosette’s room with a small amount of fear as to what he might find. “Are you guys up here?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Eponine answered, popping her head out of her room just as Cosette came to her own doorway, nibbling at a cookie.

“Grantaire’s sick. Joly told me to get one of you,” Enjolras explained. Cosette and Eponine made simultaneous, high-pitched noises. Cosette reached back into her room and grabbed Marius before shoving him towards Eponine’s room.

“Watch Gavroche, keep him up here,” Cosette instructed as Eponine pushed her younger brother back into their room by his forehead.

“What’s going on?” Bossuet asked, appearing at the bottom of the staircase from the third floor. “Did someone say something about Joly?”

“Joly’s downstairs-” Enjolras began to answer, but Eponine raised her hand in front of his face.

“Grantaire’s sick,” Eponine interrupted. Bossuet’s face paled and he turned back towards the stairs.

“Grantaire brought the plague into our house!” Bossuet shouted up the stairs. Courfeyrac poked his head out of his room, his door only open slightly.

“Goddamn sinners and their infestations,” Courfeyrac grumbled. “We’re all going to be sick by nightfall. It’s the _weekend_. Damn _it_!”

Courfeyrac left his room wearing only what seemed to be one of Jehan’s gigantic sweaters - this one with a sparkling, bedazzled cat emblazoned on the front - and stomped down the stairs. Cosette and Eponine followed closely after him, and Enjolras did not even take another step before Bossuet, Feuilly, Combeferre, and Bahorel barrelled down the stairs behind him and trampled right past him like a herd of elephants. Enjolras blinked, got his bearings, and returned back downstairs.

It seemed that in the _three seconds_ between everyone going downstairs and Enjolras going downstairs, they had set up a small camp for Grantaire in the living room. Everyone except for Courfeyrac was sitting around him like a protective fence of bodies; Courfeyrac was in the corner, glaring at Grantaire like he was about to spontaneously combust at any moment.

“We’re all going to be sick by nightfall,” Courfeyrac repeated pessimistically under his breath. It turned out that he was not wrong.

* * *

While Grantaire seemed to get the original worst of the stomach flu, the sickness spread through their house pretty quickly; only Marius and Gavroche were spared and remained healthy, and they built a barricade in Gavroche and Eponine’s room to keep themselves that way. The camp in the living room had become a camp for them all, complete with a giant floor-bed made of comforters and pillows that had been dragged downstairs. Enjolras and Grantaire were the only ones not on the floor; Enjolras was just perched on the piano bench, his head resting on the keys, and Grantaire had long since been moved to the sofa, where he was currently fast asleep.

“I hate you,” Courfeyrac hissed at the sleeping Grantaire around midnight. Everyone hushed him, and Jehan even reached over and slapped him. “Well, I _do_. Damn plague, I knew you shouldn’t’ve broken all those commandments-”

“Shut up, Courf,” Enjolras snapped. Courfeyrac was quiet for a moment.

“I’ll break the _sixth commandment_ ,” Courfeyrac grumbled. Jehan climbed on top of him and attempted to smother him with a pillow. Courfeyrac grabbed the poet by the braid, pulled the pillow from his own face, and pulled Jehan down to kiss him. Eponine started beating them both with her own pillow.

“Knock off the shit and let me sleep, or I’ll throw up all over both of you assholes!” Eponine whisper-shouted at them, punctuating each syllable with a hit from her pillow. Jehan launched herself at her, and Enjolras watched from his piano bench as chaos ensued on the floor bed beneath him. He drew his legs up before Bossuet could roll into them and knock him over. He wrapped his arms around his shins and tried to fall asleep in the uncomfortable position. The only place where he knew he could reasonably sleep right now was the sofa, but Grantaire was currently occupying it. They had chosen to remain downstairs rather than contaminate their rooms, but Enjolras had begun to regret that decision when he not only could not sleep, but he also had to watch as Courfeyrac tackled Combeferre and made the latter stumble off towards one of the bathrooms to vomit again.

Enjolras sighed, stepped around the writhing mass of sick wrestlers on the floor, and fit himself around Grantaire on the sofa. His back was pressed against Grantaire's originally, but his face got stuck in the cushions of the sofa and he found that he could not breathe in that position; with an enormous sigh, he turned around, fitting his front to Grantaire’s back. He hesitated for a moment before putting his awkwardly bent arm around Grantaire to get himself into a more comfortable position. Grantaire seemed to press against him subconsciously in his sleep, making a content little humming noise and hooking an ankle around one of Enjolras’ calves. Enjolras stilled, then relaxed almost at once. He could feel the bandages still on Grantaire’s skin from the protest four days prior, and he tried to avoid touching the areas he knew had been damaged. He felt a little bit better knowing Grantaire was safe with him now, but he shoved the feeling aside. Once he was settled, he shut his eyes and he realized he felt better health-wise, as well, there with Grantaire, so he buried his face in Grantaire’s hair and fell asleep. If anyone asked him about it when this was all over, he would just argue that he was _sick_ and they were _fighting_ and _where else was he supposed to go, damn it_.

Eponine stood up amongst the fray and grabbed Cosette by the shoulder. At the blonde’s confused expression, Eponine motioned urgently towards the sofa without speaking. Cosette nearly smacked Eponine when she noticed, and she immediately hushed all the other boys, calmed them down, and attracted their attention to the boys sleeping on the sofa. Courfeyrac was the first one to pull his phone out, but the others followed suit quickly, including Combeferre, who had returned looking pale but ready to fight for his sleep once again.

“We might as well just go to sleep now,” Jehan suggested quietly. Bahorel shrugged and nested himself in the blankets. The others followed at once, huddling like newborn puppies.

* * *

Marius ventured downstairs on Sunday, and this was only after they ran out of the sandwiches and water that Gavroche apparently stashes in Eponine’s dresser “for safekeeping”. With Gavroche clinging tightly to his back, his small legs wrapped around Marius’ waist and his small arms wrapped around Marius’ neck, Marius made his slow way into the living room. Gavroche peeked over his shoulder at the lump on the floor. Upon closer inspection, the two realized the lump was actually made of people, too, not just blankets and pillows. Courfeyrac was wrapped around Jehan like white on rice; Cosette and Eponine seemed to have found comfort in each other, and were currently spooning (Marius noted with amusement that Cosette was the big spoon); Bossuet and Joly were barely visible, tangled together and obscured as they were by an enormous, thick, blue comforter; Feuilly and Bahorel were laying on top of Combeferre, the three of them snuggled together like sleeping kittens in a box; and, most surprisingly of all, Enjolras was asleep on the sofa, flat on his back with Grantaire resting half-on the sofa and half-on him.

Everyone seemed to be fast asleep, and Marius was pleased to see that it seemed like some color had returned to their cheeks. He peered at Enjolras and Grantaire for a moment, grinning when he saw Grantaire’s hand fisted in Enjolras t-shirt and Enjolras’ hand tangled in Grantaire’s sweat-damp curls of hair. Gavroche giggled quietly near Marius’ left ear as Marius pulled out his phone and began snapping photos of the lot of them. He had made fresh sandwiches and grabbed a handful of orange juice boxes, returned to Gavroche’s bedroom with the ten-year-old, and had just finished posting the pictures on Facebook (and tagging them) when he heard Enjolras shout his name from downstairs. Marius and Gavroche instinctively made eye contact before Gavroche slammed the bedroom door shut and the two of them began to rebuild their barricade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going quite well, in my opinion. Again, request whatever you want to see, and we'll dish about working it in.


	4. The One Where Nobody Shuts Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Feuilly takes his shirt off, Gavroche is not happy with the events of this meeting, Eponine finds herself in a 1970s sitcom, and neither Enjolras nor Grantaire seems to possess the ability to shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking FINALLY. I don't know how any of us made it this long.

Enjolras was used to people paying him less than their undivided attention at his meetings, but he was unprepared for today. Today’s nighttime meeting found him standing at the front of the group with his posters, but nobody seemed to really be listening, save for Combeferre, Bahorel, Gavroche, and, to an extent, Grantaire.

Jehan had perched himself in Courfeyrac’s lap and was writing poetry with a Sharpie onto a shirtless Feuilly’s freckled back. Courfeyrac was quiet, for once, as he braided Jehan’s long hair over and over again. Cosette and Marius had their heads bowed close at their own table, whispering back and forth to each other. Eponine glared at them from the table she was sharing with Grantaire, who had his chin propped up on one hand while he alternated between absently drawing in his sketchbook and watching Enjolras speak. Joly was fretting about something in Bossuet’s general direction while Bossuet braided Musichetta’s hair, watching Courfeyrac carefully to make sure he was doing it right. Combeferre was his most attentive listener - it even seemed like he was taking notes. Bahorel sat beside Combeferre, lounging backwards in his chair, but his eyes were still focused on Enjolras. Gavroche had been hiding under Courfeyrac’s table, but he eventually got bored and crawled out, choosing instead to sit on the floor in front of Enjolras.

Enjolras understood that this Tuesday meeting was the first one since they had gotten over being sick the weekend before, but at least one of them had a class too early in the morning every day except Wednesday, which only left Tuesdays available for nighttime meetings. He frowned at the group, and Gavroche seemed to notice that he was disgruntled, as the boy stood up almost at once to face the rest of the group.

“Be quiet and pay attention!” Gavroche shouted in his young, high voice. Everyone looked up and fell silent almost at once.

“Sorry, Gav,” Courfeyrac said first. The rest of the group echoed his sentiments. Gavroche hesitated for a moment before he grinned toothily at Courfeyrac and went to sit by him.

“I, um... Well.” Enjolras cleared his throat and motioned towards his poster of the week. “We haven’t got a protest anytime soon, so I was thinking we could have a rally instead. Maybe against gun violence this time.”

“Why bother?” Grantaire asked, finally speaking up. Enjolras ignored him.

“If we get enough exposure, we can try to reduce the levels of gun violence in our area, at least. Maybe garner national attention, some level of support,” Enjolras continued, as though Grantaire had not spoken. Grantaire lifted his head from the palm of his hand.

“Enjolras, listen to yourself. Who’s going to pay attention?” Grantaire put his pencil down and kept eye contact with Enjolras when the blond looked over.

“If we work hard enough, then the plan is that everyone will pay attention,” Enjolras answered evenly. Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“Look around. We’re a bunch of college students. Nobody cares about us, Enjolras,” Grantaire argued. Enjolras frowned.

“Well, maybe nobody cares about you, Grantaire, but people are going to care about us and our causes,” Enjolras shot back. The room fell absolutely silent as Grantaire stood up. He made his way through the tables, keeping his eye on Enjolras the whole time, until he was right in front of their group’s leader. Enjolras kept eye contact until his eyes nearly went crossed. “Believe in something for once, Grantaire.”

“I do believe in something,” Grantaire said, his voice quieter now. “And maybe nobody cares about me, but I at least I can understand that. I get why, believe it or not.”

“What do you believe in?” Enjolras asked, struggling to keep his voice loud, less intimate than Grantaire’s. The artist took a step back.

“You. I believe in you.” Grantaire raised his arms up and let them fall back down to his sides. “Why the hell else would I be here? Even you seem to have noticed that I don’t give a shit about any of our causes. Why would I be here for any reason except for you?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Enjolras said, his brow furrowed. Grantaire ran a hand through his hair shakily.

“Of course it doesn’t make any sense,” Grantaire mumbled to himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire looked immediately furious, and he stepped back into Enjolras’ personal space. Combeferre stood up at his table, but Bahorel laid a hand on his wrist to keep him from approaching the argument.

“It’s supposed to mean that you never notice anything, Enjolras!” Grantaire spat. “You are so wrapped up in yourself and your causes that you never notice anything else! Like, like... Like Jehan.” Grantaire turned and motioned back to the poet in question, who looked up with wide eyes. “Have you noticed that he’s in love with Courfeyrac? Have you even noticed they’re dating? Or, how about Eponine, and how she’s best friends with Cosette now.” The two girls smiled at each other nervously, worried about their sudden involvement in where this might be going. “Gavroche got a B on his math test last week, and that’s his worst subject. Bahorel is going to get a pet fish. Marius is thinking about picking up a minor in Special Education. Feuilly got a tattoo. Combeferre is going to ask out one of the girls in his Art of the Modern World class.” Grantaire stepped closer to Enjolras and took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing in the same calm, slow voice. “Joly is thinking of being a doctor instead of a nurse. Bossuet’s been bringing flowers for Musichetta every time we’re here, and she always tucks them behind her left ear.” Grantaire stared up into Enjolras’ surprised, hard eyes. “Do _you_ care about _us_ , Enjolras?”

Enjolras’ eyes flickered up, darting from face to face before coming back down to rest on Grantaire. “I do care.”

“Prove it!” Grantaire shouted. Enjolras just kept staring at him. “Goddamn it, Enjolras. Prove it, because I honestly don’t believe you.”

Enjolras surged forward, grabbing the curls at the back of Grantaire’s head and kissing him furiously. Grantaire stiffened automatically and blinked before relaxing, closing his eyes, and kissing Enjolras back. His hands came up awkwardly, unsure of where to go, so he settled them tightly onto Enjolras’ hips. He pushed upwards with as much force as he could muster, and Enjolras responded in kind immediately. When it became too much, Enjolras pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss off; Grantaire fell back flat on his feet, and Enjolras followed him, resting his forehead against Grantaire’s as they caught their breath.

“Is that enough proof for you?” Enjolras asked quietly. Grantaire just nodded, moving both of their heads with the motion. “I really just wanted you to stop talking.”

“Shut up,” Grantaire growled, shoving himself up against Enjolras and kissing him again. This time had even more fire behind it, more drive, more passion as they pressed into each other’s mouths. Combeferre cleared his throat, but Jehan leaned forward and whacked him on the side of the head. The noise was still enough for Enjolras, who seemed to remember himself, pulling back at once.

“Meeting adjourned,” Enjolras declared, loudly and clearly. Nobody in the room moved, so Enjolras sighed and looked over Grantaire’s head. “What?”

“Uhm,” Eponine replied eloquently. Marius nodded as though she had said something great and profound which he completely agreed with.

“I kind of want to make sure you don’t strangle him,” Courfeyrac threw out there. Jehan pointed to him in agreement.

“That was disgusting,” Gavroche added, and Cosette scowled at him.

“Gavroche, that was darling,” Cosette said to the boy, who turned around to face her.

“You’d think so ‘cause you’re always doing the same thing with Marius,” Gavroche replied. Cosette’s face turned bright red, but Marius smiled, wide and unashamed.

“That’s because he loves me,” Cosette said softly in response. Now Enjolras’ face turned red, nearly matching his jacket.

“Either everyone leaves, or we leave,” Enjolras announced. Still, nobody moved. Eponine put her chin in her palm and gave them a shit-eating grin. Enjolras groaned. “Fine."

Enjolras grabbed Grantaire by the wrist and nearly dragged him from the second floor of the bar. Grantaire waved at the rest of the group before the two of them disappeared. Once they were gone, Bahorel turned around and grinned happily.

“I’m going to get my own room, bitches!” Bahorel exclaimed, leaning back in his chair and throwing his hands up. Combeferre hit him with his notebook. Eponine grabbed Grantaire’s sketchbook and tucked it into her bag.

* * *

Grantaire had barely gotten the door to the house shut before Enjolras had him slammed against it, his hips pressed solidly against Grantaire’s as he shoved his tongue in his mouth. Grantaire nearly collapsed against the door, his knees going weak under him; Enjolras pulled back and held him up as well as he could.

“Jesus _Christ_ , I’ve wanted this for so long,” Grantaire sighed. Enjolras kissed him again.

“Shut up,” Enjolras growled against his lips before falling to his knees. Grantaire tangled a hand in Enjolras’ curls in the same amount of time it took Enjolras to tear Grantaire’s jeans and boxers down. He bowed his head and took him into his mouth all at once, without hesitation, and Grantaire made a choked noise, his fists slamming back against the door.

“Enjolras, damn it, someone’s going to come home and catch us,” Grantaire tugged at Enjolras’ hair, pulling them apart. Enjolras sat back, feeling a strong, irrational sense of rejection and disconnection at the sudden loss. Grantaire reached down and yanked his own pants up. He looked down at Enjolras and his face softened. “No, I just... We’re going upstairs.”

Enjolras looked at him in confusion. “Wh-”

Grantaire fell to his own knees and pulled Enjolras in for a deep kiss. When Grantaire finally pulled away, he started a trail of kisses down Enjolras’ neck to his shoulder. Enjolras let his head fall back, and Grantaire took full advantage, kissing his throat with fresh fire.

“Are you sure about this?” Grantaire asked, his words a hum against Enjolras’ skin. “I only ask because you seem to fucking hate me most of the time.”

“I’m absolutely sure. And I don’t hate you, I promise,” Enjolras ground out. Grantaire nodded and stood, dragging Enjolras with him.

“We’re going to your bedroom, and we are going to do this right,” Grantaire explained as he pulled Enjolras by the sleeve of his bright red jacket up the three flights of stairs to his attic room. “If you want to suck me off after, by all means, don’t let me stop you.”

Enjolras kicked the door shut and shoved Grantaire onto his bed. The sight of Grantaire laying on his back in Enjolras’ bed, propped up on his elbows, grinning, cheeks flushed and hair a mess, was almost too much to handle. He climbed on top of him, his knees coming to rest on either side of Grantaire’s hips as he settled back, sitting on Grantaire’s thighs.

“ _Jesus_ , Mary, and _Joseph_ ,” Enjolras said quietly. Grantaire reached up and twisted a hand in Enjolras’ t-shirt so that he could pull Enjolras’ head down. He lifted his head slightly so that his lips were pressed to Enjolras’ ear.

“Shut up and take your clothes off,” Grantaire whispered in his ear. Enjolras leaned back up onto Grantaire’s thighs and tugged his jacket off. He threw the jacket into the corner, yanked his t-shirt up over his head, and stood up on the bed to peel his pants off. Grantaire squirmed out from under him and began pulling off his own clothes as quick as he could, discarding them off the side of the bed. He finished before Enjolras did, and the blond eagerly accepted help in getting his boxers off and away. Grantaire ran his hands down Enjolras’ sides reverently, his nails scratching faint red lines all the way down the sides of his abdomen. Enjolras threw his head back and ground down on him.

“Jesus Christ, just _do it_ , _fuck_ ,” Grantaire growled, collapsing on his back on the bed as his arms gave out under him. Enjolras trailed his hand from Grantaire’s chest up into his hair.

“As you wish.” Enjolras bent his head and started a trail of kisses downwards.

* * *

“You and Enjolras need to calm the fuck down,” Courfeyrac grumbled as he came into the kitchen the next morning, scratching at the back of his head. Grantaire looked up from the pan on the stove where he was frying bacon. Courfeyrac fell into one of the kitchen chairs, looked up at Grantaire, and immediately groaned. “You look like you’ve been mauled by a bear. And you’re wearing his goddamn pants. I hate you.”

“It’s almost like you don’t know how loud you are with Jehan,” Grantaire teased, grinning widely at his friend. “Speaking of, you have a flower in your hair, and you’re wearing his polar bear pajamas.”

Courfeyrac reached up and pulled a daisy out of his bed-mussed hair. He twirled it between his thumb and forefinger and shrugged.

“I like it. It’s pretty,” Courfeyrac said happily. Eponine padded into the room in slippers and an old shirt of Grantaire’s, and she slapped Courfeyrac in the back of the head.

“Stop being in love, asshole. It’s disgusting,” Eponine growled. Courfeyrac raised his hands peaceably and tucked the flower back into his hair.

“I come in peace, hostile morning creature.” Courfeyrac watched as Eponine sat down across from him at the table and let her forehead hit the wooden surface. “You could always, y’know, move on from Marius. And not with Montparnasse, because I’ve had enough of that shithead for one lifetime.”

“I’m not getting back together with Montparnasse, shut up,” Eponine mumbled into the table. “Just leave me to die alone.”

“Oh, ‘Ponine. If you’re dying, I’ll be there, taking pictures, laughing, maybe making a movie about it later,” Grantaire assured her, smiling wildly as he set the first few strips of bacon on the table.

“I hate you,” Eponine spat as she took a handful of bacon strips. “And you need to be quiet when you’re fucking, by the way. Gavroche asked me what you were doing, and I had to say you were wrestling. _Wrestling_. What _is_ this, a sitcom from the 1970s?”

“Want me to talk to him?” Grantaire offered, starting to fry another pan. Eponine shook her head automatically.

“God, no. That’s going to be Joly and Jehan’s job,” Eponine answered. Grantaire frowned. “Oh, by the way, I brought home your sketchbook. It’s upstairs in my bag.”

“Thanks, ‘Ponine. I’ll grab it later.” Grantaire shot Eponine a grateful smile as Courfeyrac rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

“Do you really think Jehan’s in love with me?” Courfeyrac asked suddenly, his voice dropping in volume. Grantaire turned around to look at him.

“Yes, I really do,” Grantaire replied softly, smiling at him. Courfeyrac leaned back in his chair and grinned to himself. Grantaire finished frying the last of the bacon and placed half of the last batch on a paper plate. “Alright, see you losers later. I’m going back upstairs.”

“Be quiet!” Eponine called after him around a mouthful of bacon. Courfeyrac echoed the sentiment in a loud, albeit muffled, voice, and Grantaire smiled as he left the room. He practically ran up the sets of stairs to Enjolras’ attic room, and he pushed the door open only to find that Enjolras had fallen back asleep in his absence.

Grantaire closed the door softly and left the plate of bacon behind in a clear spot on the desk. He tugged his (well, technically Enjolras’) pants off and abandoned them on the floor in favor of climbing back into the bed naked. He laid down beside Enjolras, who had fallen asleep on his back, also naked, one hand behind his head and one bent across his chest. He had a fair amount of marks on him, courtesy of Grantaire, but Grantaire knew he had even more marks on himself. He had been pleased to discover that Enjolras’ passion and possessiveness had made the transition.

Enjolras shifted when Grantaire came into contact with him, pulling his hand out from behind his head to wrap it around Grantaire. Grantaire moved in closer, pressing his face into Enjolras’ neck and leaving a kiss there. Enjolras made a contented humming noise.

“Not regretting it yet?” Grantaire asked softly. Enjolras paused for a moment.

“No, not yet,” Enjolras answered simply. When Grantaire lifted his head, Enjolras smiled, and it was so rare and bright that Grantaire had to smile back.

“Is this...” Grantaire made a vague motion with his hands between the two of them. “Is this going to be a thing? Like, a casual thing, or a _thing_ thing?”

“Do you want a casual thing?” Enjolras asked quietly. Grantaire hesitated, honestly thinking over what the right answer would be here. He dropped his head back down to rest on Enjolras’ shoulder.

“I’ll take you however I can have you,” Grantaire said slowly. “So long as I can have you.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said so gently that it almost sounded foreign on his tongue. Grantaire was forced by the tone to lift his head up again. “You have me.”

Grantaire remained very still for a moment, so Enjolras felt the need to continue, filling the silence with his voice.

“You drink too much. You’re too intelligent for your own good, but you don’t do anything with it. You’re always covered in paint or charcoal or something like that. You smoke, and that’s _terrible_ for your health.” Enjolras looked down at Grantaire, maintaining eye contact. “You don’t believe in anything.”

“I believe in you,” Grantaire told him for the second time in twelve hours. Enjolras nodded, but Grantaire continued. “Though it is hard to believe in someone who thinks that pointing out the other person’s flaws is the right way to court said other person.”

“Well, then, do the same to me,” Enjolras told him. He sat up in bed, leaning against the bed frame; Grantaire followed, using him for support, his back lined up with Enjolras’ chest.

“You’re my Apollo,” Grantaire insisted. Enjolras shook his head and began running his hand absently through Grantaire’s hair.

“I’m human. Point out my flaws,” Enjolras said softly near his ear. Grantaire swallowed.

“You have a temper. You yell at me a lot. You seem to think I’m useless, but I don’t think I’m as bad as you seem to think I am. You don’t pay enough attention to your friends.” Grantaire scratched at the stubble on his face. “Uhm, let’s see. You’re stubborn, you’re pretentious, you’re-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Enjolras interrupted. Grantaire grinned and twisted around to look at him.

“I’m not sorry,” Grantaire assured him. Enjolras tried not to smile.

“Oh, I _know_ you’re not sorry,” Enjolras replied. He hesitated for a moment before pressing his lips to Grantaire’s temple. “I’m new at this whole...”

“Everything?” Grantaire suggested. Enjolras nodded once.

“Yes, everything,” Enjolras agreed. Grantaire pat him on the thigh.

“I’ll show you the ropes,” Grantaire promised before pulling himself into Enjolras’ lap, straddling him so they were chest-to-chest.

“By the way, I care about you,” Enjolras whispered. Grantaire furrowed his brow, confused. “We all do. I didn’t mean what I said last night.”

“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t say anything I haven’t heard from you before,” Grantaire mumbled quietly before attacking Enjolras’ neck with a bright, sudden passion that was not very common for him this early in the morning. Enjolras decided to drop it for now.

“I could have sworn I smelled bacon,” Enjolras said instead, into the small space between them. Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“Well, pick one. It’s me or the bacon,” Grantaire laughed. Enjolras paused, just for a split second, and Grantaire knew he had won.

Ten minutes later, someone below them was hitting the floor (the person below’s ceiling) with what sounded like the end of a broom handle, but the sound was thoroughly ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never written porn before. I'll admit it. I have personal issues which leads to me not being able to handle sexual situations well, but I've gotten better. I can read it and see it now, but I am yet to create it. Hence my trying my hand at this. Clearly, I did not do well here, but, y'know. Baby steps. I'm sure I'll get there eventually. My apologies for any awkward anything this held for you.


	5. The One Where It's Not Courfeyrac's Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras leaves in the middle of class, Courfeyrac did not hit someone else's car, Grantaire is surprisingly helpful, and Jehan can't stop crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a friend of mine pointed out, this story has been very happy. I think we all need a healthy dose of unhappiness, just for a moment. This same friend is the same one who picked Courfeyrac when I was about a second away from picking Jehan, so you can thank her for that.
> 
> I'm not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV. All of the medical stuff as well as the way to calm people down during panic attacks is the result of research on my part. I will admit, though, learning how to calm down people having panic attacks could be helpful in the future.
> 
> Warnings for possibly triggering situations: hospitals, car accidents, panic attacks, et cetera.

Grantaire had not moved his seat in his Philosophy and Religion class - the one class he shared with Enjolras - for two reasons: first, because Enjolras sat in the front, and Grantaire could not sleep or draw in the front without being caught by Professor Valjean, and, second, because, from his current vantage point high in the back, Grantaire could watch Enjolras without being noticed. Today, this meant that, about halfway through class, he got to watch as Enjolras checked his phone - which was confusing in itself, he never checked his phone unless it would not stop going off, which it must have been - and immediately stand up.

“Enjolras?” Professor Valjean asked, confused as his best student began gathering his things.

“Grantaire and I need to go. Family emergency,” Enjolras said quickly. He barely motioned to Grantaire before the artist was tripping down the stairs, clutching his books and his knapsack. Professor Valjean looked exceptionally confused, but he nodded and let them rush out. Grantaire caught up beside Enjolras, shoving both their stacks of books into his bag.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Grantaire asked nervously. Enjolras never left lectures, never missed class, never did anything like this. Something had to be terribly wrong; Grantaire’s nerves felt like the frayed ends of exposed live wires, and his heart was beating unnaturally fast.

“Jehan texted me that Courfeyrac was in an accident,” Enjolras informed him. He had picked up speed, nearly jogging, and Grantaire was struggling to keep up. It was worrying how steady and separate Enjolras’ voice was when Grantaire was panicking inside.

“Where are you going?” Grantaire’s hand shot out and grabbed Enjolras’ wrist, pulling him to a stop. Enjolras whirled around and glared at him, but Grantaire spoke before he could. “You’re not running all the way to wherever the hell you’re going, and I’m not letting you drive. We’ll get my car and I’ll drive. Where are we going?”

Enjolras clenched his jaw and ripped his arm away from Grantaire. “You are not-”

“Where are we going?” Grantaire repeated, louder this time, firmer. Enjolras stared back at him angrily before pulling his phone from his pocket and reading through the messages again.

“Jehan texted me the address, here.” Enjolras shoved his phone at Grantaire. Grantaire took it and began walking again, trusting that Enjolras would follow behind him to his car.

“What else did Jehan say?” Grantaire asked. Though he was freaking out and sick with anxiety internally, he knew he had to keep Enjolras calm in this situation, no matter how he acted on the outside.

“He said that it wasn’t Courf’s fault, that he just got the call, that...that he’s not waking up, that-” Enjolras had stuttered to a stop, so Grantaire grabbed him by the hand and started pulling him along.

“He’s gonna be fine. It’s Courf. He’s always fine,” Grantaire reassured him, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt. It was Courfeyrac, and he was the heart of their little group, really, and he had no idea how they would get on without him. But, still. It was _Courfeyrac_. He could never leave them if he could help it.

“Right, he’s always fine,” Enjolras repeated. Grantaire just nodded as they reached his car, and he fumbled around in the pockets of his knapsack until he found his keys. Enjolras had slipped into the passenger seat and was pulling his seatbelt on before Grantaire had fully opened his door. By the time he had finally started driving, Enjolras was fidgeting in his seat, alternating between looking at his phone, which was still in Grantaire’s hand, out the window, and at his watch.

“Calm down. It’s going to be alright,” Grantaire said softly. Enjolras did not reply. They both knew that Grantaire knew nothing. They both knew that Courfeyrac had been one of Enjolras’ best friends since they were four. They both knew that Courfeyrac had helped him through everything, that he supported him, that they had done almost everything together since they were children. They both knew Courfeyrac was like Enjolras’ brother, and that nothing was going to make this okay. Grantaire drove in silence.  


Enjolras’ phone chimed, so Grantaire passed it back without a word; he had an idea of where he was going and where the hospital was located and, besides, the text may be from Jehan. When Enjolras did not speak, Grantaire chanced a look in his direction and found that his face was white.

“What? What does it say?” Grantaire demanded, turning his attention back to the road. Enjolras shook his head and pressed his palm to his face.

“Jehan says that he’s got something called a subdural hematoma, so they’re going surgery,” Enjolras informed him quietly. His hand was clenched around his phone so tight that his knuckles were turning white; Grantaire reached over and took his free hand.

“Calm down, alright? Getting angry isn’t going to help anyone right now,” Grantaire said, keeping his voice low and even. Enjolras did not move or respond, and Grantaire did not release his hand. “Text Joly, ask what that means. Is everyone else meeting us there?”

“Yes,” Enjolras answered, his voice short. Grantaire nodded and ran his thumb over the back of Enjolras’ hand subconsciously. Enjolras began texting someone - presumably Joly - and the car was silent yet again. Grantaire debated turning on the radio, but he did not want to startle Enjolras or let go of his hand, so he decided against it.

“What if he dies?” Enjolras asked softly after ten minutes of silence. Grantaire looked over at Enjolras and immediately pulled over to the side of the road. He was pale, his hands were shaking, his breathing was quick, and Grantaire recognized what was happening. He hauled himself out of the car and came around to Enjolras’ side to bring him out, too. Grantaire was thankful that they had not reached the city yet, and the side of the road was grassy and vacant.

Grantaire tried to steady Enjolras, who looked up at Grantaire with wide eyes that were unrecognizable in his face. Grantaire held him close.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Enjolras murmured. Grantaire nodded.

“That’s alright,” Grantaire said softly. Enjolras closed his eyes. “It’s okay. This is Courf we’re talking about here. He fell off that third-story balcony once, remember? He didn’t even get a concussion. I think he’s immortal.” Grantaire let Enjolras press his face into his hair.

“I can’t bear the thought of losing him. And I know he’s probably going to be alright. But we don’t know that, and this kind of thing never happens, and I just don’t understand,” Enjolras confessed all in a rush. Grantaire nodded again.

“That’s okay, that’s reasonable. It’s okay.” Grantaire pulled away. “I need you to take deep breaths, okay? Cup your hands like this-” Grantaire demonstrated, and Enjolras mimicked the action, “That’s right, now hold them against your mouth and nose, and take calm breaths.” Enjolras shut his eyes and did as he was told; his breathing steadied after a couple of minutes, and Grantaire carefully pulled his hands down. “Very good. Now, take off your jacket.”

“My jacket?” Enjolras asked, looking down at Grantaire in confusion when the artist started taking it off himself.

“Yes, we need to cool you down,” Grantaire informed him, pulling the jacket off of Enjolras and tossing it back through the open car door. “There. How do you feel?”

“I’m not going to be sick,” Enjolras offered as an answer. Grantaire nodded and reached up, running his hand through Enjolras’ hair until he reached the back of his neck, where he let his hand settle.

“Are you okay to get back in the car?” Grantaire asked calmly. Enjolras nodded, kissed Grantaire’s forehead, and moved around him to return to the car. Grantaire did the same, fumbling in the cupholders between the front seats before resurfacing with a package of mint gum. “Take out a couple pieces, chew them, focus on the flavor.”

To his surprise, Enjolras did as he asked. Grantaire took hold of his hand again and started driving. Enjolras fell silent once more and chose to look out the window instead of at anything else. It did not take too long before they were in the city and pulling into the parking lot of the hospital. Grantaire led the way through the maze of doors and floors, keeping a tight grip on Enjolras’ hand the whole time, and they eventually found Jehan, sitting alone in the waiting room of the emergency room. His hair was a mess, falling around him in tangles, his face was tear-stained and blotchy, and he was curled up in the very corner of a soft sofa. There was a woman watching him nervously from behind the service desk, and she looked relieved when Enjolras and Grantaire came up to him.

“Jehan, come here,” Grantaire said softly, falling onto the sofa and wrapping his arms around Jehan when the poet threw himself at him and started sobbing. Enjolras dragged a hard plastic chair over and sat down, his knees touching Jehan’s; he looked afraid to make any sudden movements. “It’s okay, Jehan.”

“It’s not,” Jehan choked out. Grantaire situated Jehan against him so that Jehan’s back was to Grantaire.

“I know, I know it’s not, but it’s going to be,” Grantaire promised, his voice quiet and even, and Enjolras had never seen him like this. Grantaire began braiding Jehan’s hair with a surprising efficiency, and the effect on the poet was immediately visible; he relaxed, his shoulders slumping, though the tears did not slow, and he kept hiccupping. He pulled the end of his enormous sleeve over his hand and rubbed futilely at his face. “Go ahead, talk, it’s okay.”

“I love him,” Jehan coughed, his face red. Enjolras reached out and put a hand on Jehan’s knee, feeling useless for the first time in a long time. Jehan did not even seem to notice him. “R, I love him so much. I can’t live without him. I love him, what if-”

“Don’t get stuck in ‘what ifs’, Jehan. Focus on what’s happening, on reality,” Grantaire ordered him. Jehan nodded minutely as Grantaire finished the braid and tied it off with a blue rubber band he had had around his wrist. “There. Now, what’s happening?”

“They told me he has a cervical fracture, and he’s got a subdural hematoma, and they explained it, they said... it’s like a vein tore, or something, and they need to do surgery of the hemorrhage that’s compressing the brain, I think, and I asked if he was going to die, and they said they honestly didn’t know.” Jehan turned around to face Grantaire. “They didn’t know, Grantaire. He’s twenty-one! He’s not supposed to die!”

“Jehan, Jehan, shh, it’s okay,” Grantaire repeated softly, pulling Jehan to him again. “It’s going to be okay. They didn’t say yes, okay? They said they don’t know, and no news is good news, really, if you think about it. Schrodinger’s cat, right?”

“Right,” Jehan replied, his voice muffled by tears and Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire pressed a kiss to the top of Jehan’s head and let his cheek rest there.

“Of course it’s right. Courfeyrac has to be the stupidest experiment. It’s only right,” Grantaire smiled, and Jehan choked on a watery laugh. “He’s going to be okay. He’s pulled a lot of stupid shit.”

“It wasn’t even his fault. Someone hit _him_ ,” Jehan muttered. Grantaire nodded. “They died, though. They died, and I know I should be sad that they died, R, but I’m not.”

“That’s okay. You shouldn’t have to feel anything. You can feel whatever you want,” Grantaire assured him. Jehan nodded and shut his eyes, and Grantaire counted three hundred and forty-eight breaths before Jehan fell asleep. He lifted his head to look up at Enjolras, who had removed his hand from Jehan’s knee and sat back, his face drained of color and his lip bitten.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Enjolras asked quietly. Grantaire furrowed his brow in confusion. “You calmed him down. You calmed _me_ down.”

“You don’t get to be me without learning how to work through panic attacks,” Grantaire replied in a low voice. “I’ve had my fair share.” Enjolras straightened a little in his seat, his expression shifting into something that was almost alarm, but Grantaire frowned at him. “Calm down. I’m fine. But if you wake up Jehan right now, you won’t be.”

Enjolras nodded and fell silent again. The group trickled in in singles and in pairs, loud at the entrance until they got closer, saw Jehan, and quieted. Grantaire fell asleep after a little while, wrapped around Jehan, their heads pressed close together and their limbs entangled. Cosette and Eponine, who had let Gavroche stay in school and had organized with another student’s mother for him to sleep over his friend’s house, sat on the couch beside Grantaire, holding each other’s hands; Marius fell onto the floor between Cosette’s legs and remained quiet as he played with Cosette’s shoelaces. Joly and Bossuet came, then Musichetta, and the three of them shared two chairs that they pushed together beside Enjolras. Bahorel arrived alone, looking pale, with a couple of shaving nicks and half a short beard. Eponine snickered at him. Feuilly rushed in and almost immediately fell asleep, his head lolling against Bahorel’s shoulder as they shared the second sofa they had dragged over with Combeferre. Combeferre had reached forward at some point and taken ahold of Enjolras’ hand, and neither of them had let go yet.

Nobody spoke very much except to share information in hushed tones. A nurse brought them coffee at one point, a pitying look on her face as she left the tray and laid a hand on Cosette’s hair before leaving. They had drained their coffees and fallen asleep since then, for the most part; Enjolras remained awake, one hand attached to Combeferre, the other supporting his head on his knee as the emergency room darkened with the coming of night. Being awake, though, Enjolras was the first to see the thin, elderly doctor approach them.

“Are you Jean Prouvaire?” The doctor asked Enjolras quietly, him being the only one who had not fallen asleep. Enjolras shook his head and motioned to Jehan.

“Do you want me to wake him up?” Enjolras whispered. The doctor nodded, so Enjolras released Combeferre’s hand and leaned forward, shaking Jehan’s shoulder lightly. He lifted his head blearily, his braid a little frizzed; he blinked at Enjolras. “Jehan, the doctor wants to talk to you.”

Jehan, to his credit, just nodded quietly and untangled himself from Grantaire, who remained fast asleep. He got up, stepped over Marius, and followed the doctor towards the corner of the emergency room. Enjolras could not hear the words being said, but he saw when Jehan’s hands flew to his mouth and he started sobbing again. The doctor laid a hand on his shoulder, looked up, made eye contact with Enjolras, and motioned him over with a jerk of his head. Enjolras debated waking up Grantaire, but quickly decided that would take too long; he got up and went over himself as the doctor hurried away to finish some task.

Jehan fell against Enjolras the second he became aware his leader was there. Enjolras’ heart sank, and he immediately thought the worst. He felt like sobbing himself.

“He’s okay,” Jehan forced out between sobs. Enjolras looked down at him, confused and too wary to be hopeful. “No, Enjolras, stop crying, he’s okay, he’s going to be fine, he’s fine.”

Jehan was still speaking, repeating himself over and over, but Enjolras did not really noticed as he let himself clutch Jehan close.

“He’s okay,” Enjolras repeated. Jehan nodded against Enjolras’ shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Jehan confirmed for him. He started laughing and crying, all at once, and Enjolras had never been happier to see Jehan cry.

* * *

Even though they knew he was going to be alright, it had still been four days and Courfeyrac was not awake. Eponine had had to leave the afternoon of the second day to get Gavroche, and she chose to stay at the house with him, Bahorel, Marius, and Cosette. Feuilly still needed to work, desperately, so he kissed Jehan on the forehead and left the night of the second day. Combeferre and Enjolras had not left yet. Grantaire had left for a couple of hours on the third day to grab some things at the house for the people who remained in the waiting room. Musichetta left on the second day to run the Musain, and Bossuet went with her; Joly stayed behind until the late afternoon of the fourth day, when he went home to get some proper sleep. Jehan barely ate during the four days, never mind left; he did sleep, but only when Grantaire was there for reasons that were beyond the rest of them, though Enjolras was fairly sure Jehan just felt more comfortable with Grantaire since the first night.

On the fourth day, at ten at night, Jehan and Grantaire were asleep on one chair in Courfeyrac’s room while Combeferre and Enjolras sat on hard chairs right outside the room, listening with half an ear and talking to each other in low voices. Suddenly, they heard a low noise, then Jehan shout something almost indecipherable. They hurried into the room to find Courfeyrac awake, Jehan already pressed up against him and kissing him like his life depended on it. Courfeyrac’s eyes were wide and confused.

“What the fuck?” Courfeyrac asked when Jehan finally pulled away for air. Jehan laughed and started crying again; Grantaire slipped out of the room unnoticed. Enjolras and Combeferre approached the bed and pat him on the shoulder, shook his hand, started explaining what had happened. Courfeyrac laughed and shook his head when they finished. “Damn. Leave it to me, right? This’ll make a good story for my grandkids, though.”

His words started Jehan on a fresh round of mixed crying and laughing, to which Courfeyrac responded by pulling him close and murmuring things into his ear. Enjolras ran his hand through his hair and watched, though he, Combeferre, and a very reluctant Jehan were soon ushered out by an excited but determined team of doctors and nurses. Jehan looked like he was nearly going to burst with happiness, and Enjolras noticed - not for the first time - that Jehan never did anything halfway, not even emotions.

“Where’d Grantaire go?” Combeferre asked suddenly. Enjolras turned around and realized that Grantaire had, in fact, vanished.

“I’ll go find him,” Enjolras said, patting Jehan’s hand and departing down the hallway. The small waiting room in Courfeyrac’s section was empty, but Enjolras turned back around and found the little bathroom they had been using. He knocked on the closed door. “Grantaire?”

The door opened, and Enjolras stepped in to find Grantaire sitting on the floor, his hands gripping at his hair. Enjolras shut and locked the door behind him and came to sit down beside Grantaire. He did not speak, but simply pulled Grantaire against him and waited for him to calm down. When he did - about twenty-three minutes later, if Enjolras had to estimate - Enjolras kissed his temple and looked down into his face.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked softly. Grantaire nodded, but he did not say anything more; Enjolras did not push him. “Everything can go back to normal.”

“I liked the new you, weird and different as it was. You’re very soft and caring. You’re like everyone’s dad. I like it,” Grantaire insisted. Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“I’m always caring, thanks. And if I’m everyone’s dad, you’re the mom,” Enjolras pointed out. Grantaire shrugged.

“There’s worse things to be.” Grantaire leaned against Enjolras again, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes. Enjolras waited with him patiently until Grantaire stood up. He offered Enjolras a hand, which Enjolras took, and he stood up in turn. “This is the first day of the rest of our lives.”

“That’s the cheesiest thing I think you’ve ever said,” Enjolras pointed out. Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Get over it, or I’ll start saying it every day,” Grantaire threatened. Enjolras raised his hands peaceably, and Grantaire leaned forward to kiss his left palm. He took Enjolras’ right hand and led them out of the bathroom and back down the hall to Courfeyrac’s room.

“Grantaire! Thank God you’re back!” Courfeyrac shouted the second Grantaire came into his view. “The food they’re giving me here is shit, so I need you to steal me a pizza.”

Grantaire laughed and started talking back and forth with Courfeyrac animatedly, sitting on the edge of his bed and making fun of his shaved head. Jehan was huddled against Courfeyrac’s side, seemingly never to leave, their hands irrevocably intertwined. Enjolras leaned against the wall and watched while Combeferre stood beside him and texted their friends the good news.

* * *

A room with thirteen young adults and one ten-year-old seemed to make the nurses and attendants uneasy, but they really did not stop them. Eponine brought Gavroche by in the mornings and the afternoons; Gavroche would give Courfeyrac baggies filled with Lucky Charms, and Eponine brought chocolate. Cosette and Marius stopped by at lunch and in the afternoon with Eponine, and they brought magazines (Marius slipped in a couple dirty ones, much to Courfeyrac’s delight and Cosette’s surprise). Bahorel came at night, and he brought by his new pet fish, a beta fish he named Francois, and he and Courfeyrac tried to teach him tricks. Feuilly came with Bahorel and brought Mad Libs. Musichetta and Bossuet came in the morning before classes and before the Musain opened, and they brought flowers for both Jehan and Courfeyrac, and they brought Joly, who stayed whenever he could and did whatever he could to help. Combeferre came in between classes and dropped off small things, like a comic book or a small toy. Grantaire was no better, leaving him odds and ends he thought might be amusing; he, too, came between classes, and he came at night. Enjolras came whenever he could, and he brought books most of the time, though never homework, which Courfeyrac was grateful for.

Jehan really never left once, and he was the one who ended up taking Courfeyrac home a week and a half later. The others waited patiently at home, since Courfeyrac had opted to make the journey with just Jehan, must to the poet’s obvious delight. The car ride was silent for about two minutes before Courfeyrac spoke up.

“I love you, you know,” Courfeyrac said softly. Jehan looked over at him and smiled.

“I do know,” Jehan replied. Courfeyrac looked down at his hands.

“Nobody will tell me, and I didn’t really want to ask, but... is the person in the other car... are they okay?” Courfeyrac asked hesitantly. Jehan reached out, took Courfeyrac’s hand, and squeezed it, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of them.

“No, I’m sorry,” Jehan told him gently. Courfeyrac nodded.

“I feel bad,” Courfeyrac whispered. Jehan frowned.

“You shouldn’t feel bad, it was their fault,” Jehan reminded him, a bit confused. Courfeyrac shook his head.

“If I hadn’t been there, they would be alive now,” Courfeyrac explained. Jehan squeezed his hand again.

“If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been someone else. I know you’re upset, but they almost killed you, Courf.” Jehan chanced another look at him. His face was turned down.

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Courfeyrac ran his free hand across the top of his bandaged head. Jehan brought his hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

“I love you,” Jehan said softly. Courfeyrac nodded and fell silent again. The ride was quiet all the way to the house, but everything was loud again when they opened the door. Gavroche was insanely happy and bouncing off the walls, insisting that Courfeyrac come with him to see something or other, and the others all kind of hung back to give him space, though they spoke loudly.

Courfeyrac fell into his own bed that night with an odd sense of relief. It felt incomplete, but the niggling imperfection in his return and recovery went away when Jehan snuggled into his side, whispered his “I love you”s and “Goodnight”s, and fell asleep with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one night, and I couldn't stop even though I knew I should go to sleep, because I wanted to get it up. Thusly, it may not be fully edited; I may have missed a couple of mistakes. Fear not, for I will come back here tomorrow and fix any horrendous problems, I promise. I just wanted to deliver today.


	6. The One Where Family Outing Day Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras is cockblocked by an apple, Feuilly and Bahorel might date a fish, Combeferre is very talented in multiple aspects, and Cosette may have broken Marius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while to get out, I'm sorry about that. In any case, enjoy! I think we all needed something happy.

“Get up, losers. We’re going out,” Eponine shouted up the stairs to the attic. Grantaire shoved his pillow over his head as Enjolras sat up, confused and half-asleep.

“It’s Saturday, where are we going?” Enjolras called back. There was no sound until Eponine stomped up the stairs and threw the door open.

“Jesus Christ, do something about that,” Eponine exclaimed, smacking a hand over her eyes. Enjolras hurried to cover himself and Grantaire with the blanket that had been shoved off the bed. Grantaire pulled the pillow tighter around his head. “We’re going to the apple orchard.”

“The what?” Enjolras rubbed at his eyes and tried to focus on Eponine. Grantaire pushed himself up and turned around to look at Eponine.

“What the hell are you going on about? It’s, like, six o’clock in the morning on a Saturday. Calm down, Satan,” Grantaire growled. Eponine glared at him.

“It’s also October twelfth, and if we want good apples, we’re going today.” Eponine clapped her hands together. “Come on, it’s family outing day. It’ll be fun.”

Enjolras ran his hand through his hair and looked down at Grantaire, who looked nothing short of murderous as he stared disbelievingly at Eponine. “Do you want to go?”

“Gavroche really wants you to come, ‘Taire,” Eponine added. Grantaire groaned and rolled off the bed, taking the blanket with him, leaving Enjolras exposed on the bed again. Eponine covered her eyes with her sleeve.

“Be showered and ready by 7:30,” Eponine ordered before turning and stumbling back down the stairs. Enjolras faintly heard her say that she was “never going to wake them up again, Jesus Christ,” as she left, but he could have been imagining things. He got up, slammed the door shut, and stood over Grantaire.

“We’ve got to shower,” Enjolras reminded him needlessly. Grantaire made a low, affirming grunt, and rolled onto his back.

“Any chance we can shower together?” Grantaire grinned up at Enjolras, his eyes still closed. Enjolras reached down, grabbed Grantaire by the wrist, and tugged him up so he was standing.

“Can you stay awake that long?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire nodded and let his head fall forward to rest on Enjolras’ shoulder. He yawned. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

* * *

Somehow, the thirteen of them made it into the living room, prepared to depart, at 7:30. Grantaire had his flask stolen by Cosette, who emptied out all his whiskey and filled it with coffee. Joly seemed a bit quiet; he wished that Musichetta could come, but she had to work. Bossuet was saying something to him in a low voice. Grantaire took a swig of straight black coffee from his flask.

“‘Taire, we’re going to find the best apples!” Gavroche exclaimed excitedly. Grantaire shoved his flask into the pocket of his jacket and caught Gavroche when the boy leapt at him.

“Yes, we certainly are,” Grantaire agreed. Gavroche grinned widely at him, but his face quickly shifted into surprise when Courfeyrac grabbed him by the ankles and hung him upside-down in mid-air. Gavroche screamed with delight.

“ _La mia mente non è dove si suppone di essere_ ,” Jehan recited, kneeling down and turning his head to look into Gavroche’s face. Courfeyrac turned Gavroche around and lowered him down until he was sitting on Jehan’s shoulders. The boy held tightly to the poet’s braid and smiled. Grantaire smiled back at him from his place in the middle of the room where he was tying Enjolras’ curls of hair into a ponytail for him.

“You need a haircut soon, my friend,” Combeferre commented. Enjolras shook his head and touched the ends of his hair in the ponytail.

“I just never find the time,” Enjolras explained as he released his hair. Grantaire kissed the back of his neck.

“Time to get this show on the road!” Eponine announced, clapping her hands together. Gavroche scrambled down from Jehan’s back and took his sister’s hand.

“I’m just going to assume we’re going to unsafely pack ourselves into Joly’s unsightly minivan,” Courfeyrac said, though he smiled widely at Joly as he spoke. Joly flipped him off, much to Bahorel’s apparent delight. Feuilly smacked Courfeyrac on the back of his head.

“Yes, we’re taking the minivan. We all can shove ourselves in there with relative safety,” Eponine assured them, particularly Joly, who had begun to look a little anxious. Enjolras looked a little concerned, as well, but Cosette waved him off.

“There’s plenty of seats. It’s the safest car I’ve ever seen, it’s got four rows and a trunk,” Cosette reminded him. Enjolras pulled on all his strength in order to not roll his eyes at her.

“That’s true. If we’re creative, we all fit,” Bossuet added thoughtfully. Jehan smiled at him.

“Lesgles agrees, let’s go. Someone wake up Marius.” Eponine motioned to the aforementioned man, who had fallen asleep on the piano bench. Cosette bent over next to him and whispered something in his ear, her hair covering her face as she spoke; when she leaned back, Marius sat straight up and looked at her blearily.

“I hate you,” Marius bit out. Cosette just smiled at him and followed the others out of their house, leaving Marius to lock up.

Joly stood before his minivan, his hands on his hips, surveying the seats through the open car door. Bossuet had already claimed the passenger seat, and the driver’s seat was empty, waiting for Joly. Marius, Cosette, Eponine, and Combeferre had shoved themselves into the furthest row back, with Gavroche nestled in Combeferre’s lap; the boy was already half-asleep, apparently prepared for the two-hour car ride. The next row contained Feuilly, Bahorel, Grantaire, and an exasperated-looking Enjolras. The two captain’s seats that made up the second row held Courfeyrac and Jehan, who looked frustrated at being half a foot away from each other, which was apparently half a foot too far. Courfeyrac threw a straw wrapper at Eponine and suggested she switch with him. The car moved as Courfeyrac and Jehan switched to sit in the back, Eponine moved to one of the captain’s seats, Feuilly took the other, and Combeferre and Gavroche moved to take Feuilly’s side beside Bahorel. Joly rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

“Is everybody in the seat they want to be in?” Joly asked, leaning in the car slightly. Everyone gave him enthusiastic, affirmative responses, and he nodded at them before hitting the button to shut the door. He got into the driver’s seat and motioned to Bossuet that he could turn on the radio, and they had to flip through quite a few stations before everyone settled on the Disney channel, which everyone but Enjolras seemed to agree to.

“This is going to be a long two hours,” Enjolras murmured. Grantaire yawned and wrapped himself around Enjolras, settling in for the ride. Joly started the car.

* * *

Joly was less than pleased to note that everyone had fallen asleep by the time he pulled into the apple orchard. Jehan’s hair was a mess because Courfeyrac had weaved his hands into it at some point and had gotten stuck in the ribbons. Gavroche was tucked into the further corner of the space where the door of the car met Combeferre’s lap. Cosette’s head lay on Marius’ shoulder; Feuilly had his feet stretched into Eponine’s lap. Joly was sorely tempted to honk the horn before he realized nothing was stopping him. Out of the goodness of his heart, he woke Bossuet up quietly first, shushing him and explaining what he was going to do through hand motions. Bossuet grinned joyfully, wide awake now. Joly slammed on the horn, and everyone in the car shouted. Eponine kicked the back of Joly’s seat.

“I hate you, man!” Courfeyrac shouted from the back while Feuilly grumbled that Joly was “the absolute _worst_ kind of person.” Grantaire seemed to take it the easiest, trying to fall back asleep in his previous position. Enjolras shoved at his shoulder.

“We’re here, wake up,” Joly announced as he pulled his keys out of the car. Bahorel looked pissed, so he ignored his eyes in the mirror and slid from the vehicle. The irritated group filed out of the car; Combeferre hoisted Gavroche onto his back so that the boy could ease into being awake. Eponine smiled at him.

“It’s nice out here,” Bahorel commented, stretching his hands above his head and yawning. Joly nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Fresh air. It’s good for you.” Joly turned around to face the rest of them. “Ready to go?”

A murmured affirmative came from his friends. Feuilly was jumping around Bahorel enthusiastically, like a child. Bahorel grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and held him in place.

“Oh, they’re going to love us,” Grantaire laughed. Enjolras rolled his eyes and followed Eponine to the old woman sitting at a table in front of the rows and rows of trees. They all fished a few dollars from their pocket and handed them to her, and she smiled warmly at them as she passed them baskets.

“This is going to be great, I don’t even see anyone else!” Cosette exclaimed, grabbing Marius by the hand and running towards the trees. Gavroche jumped off Combeferre’s back, and the rest of them followed Cosette down the hill to the trees. Grantaire took hold of Enjolras’ elbow and led him deep into the trees, away from everyone else, and he pinned him against the trunk of one hidden tree.

“Gavroche wanted to pick apples with you,” Enjolras said softly. Grantaire smiled at him and leaned in to bite at Enjolras’ jaw.

“Gavroche isn’t really awake yet. ‘Ferre’s got him for now,” Grantaire mumbled against Enjolras’ skin. Enjolras let his head fall back and hit the tree trunk.

“We’re in a public place,” Enjolras protested weakly. Grantaire grinned and pulled away from Enjolras’ jaw.

“And nobody’s going to find us. I promise,” Grantaire whispered, punctuating his words with a bite to Enjolras’ lower lip. Enjolras hesitated, turning his head to the side a bit to see if anyone was there; satisfied that there was no one around, he returned his focus to Grantaire. The artist leaned back to pull his satchel and jacket off, and Enjolras did the same, casting the items aside with Grantaire’s before flipping their positions. He held Grantaire’s wrists together above his head, pinning them against the tree.

Grantaire’s wide grin disappeared when Enjolras bent his head down and bit at Grantaire’s neck. He forced his hips forward until they met Enjolras’, and the blonde shoved him against the tree, fitting their bodies together. He lifted his head and met Grantaire’s eyes before he leaned in to kiss him as hard as he could manage. Grantaire gasped into his mouth. Enjolras felt a sharp pain on the top of his head and pulled back.

“What the hell was that?” Enjolras shouted, looking up at the leaves above him and releasing Grantaire’s wrists. The artist started laughing as he bent over.

“It was a fucking _apple_ ,” Grantaire snorted. Enjolras scowled, which only served to make Grantaire laugh harder. He took a bite of the apple and held it up to Enjolras’ face. Enjolras leaned forward and took a bite out of the apple. Grantaire started laughing again.

* * *

Jehan took a couple of steps back and took a running leap at the lowest-hanging apple, but remained unsuccessful in reaching it. Courfeyrac stood back, his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he watched his brightly-colored, sweater-clad boyfriend throw himself at the branches. Finally, he stepped forward, reached up, and plucked the apple Jehan had been after.

“Your fruit, my liege.” Courfeyrac grinned and held the apple out to Jehan. The poet snatched it from him and dropped it into the basket.

“You’re so smug, with your height and your... face,” Jehan grumbled. Courfeyrac laughed.

“Right, my face. The perfect apple-picking device,” Courfeyrac teased. Jehan frowned at him and pulled his braid over his shoulder; he played with the ends of his hair before looking up at Courfeyrac with a grin.

“I have an idea,” Jehan declared excitedly. He tossed his braid over his shoulder and ran for the tree. He clung to the trunk and attempted to climb up to the first branch; he fell before he reached that first branch, landing on the ground with a dull thud. He frowned up at the tree while Courfeyrac tried not to laugh out loud. He bit his lip and came over to help Jehan up.

“I have an idea, too,” Courfeyrac told him. Jehan raised an eyebrow at him, but Courfeyrac just knelt down beside the poet and looked up at him expectantly. “Climb onto my shoulders.”

“Climb onto your shoulders? I’ll crush you, you’re still hurt,” Jehan said worriedly, wringing his hands together. Courfeyrac grinned at him.

“You weigh, like, ten pounds, and you’re not going to sit on my head. Get on my shoulders.” Courfeyrac tugged at Jehan’s hand; the poet stepped closer nervously before doing as his boyfriend asked. Courfeyrac stood up easily, and Jehan reached up, plucking apples from a higher branch. He started laughing joyfully as he tossed the apples towards their basket. “See? It’s not so bad.”

“I feel like a little kid,” Jehan laughed. Courfeyrac kissed the side of Jehan’s knee and moved onto a new branch. Jehan pulled down at least twenty more apples before he ducked his head down to smile at Courfeyrac, his braid swinging down to hang beside his face.

“Get any good ones?” Courfeyrac asked, his hands tight around Jehan’s ankles. Jehan smiled sweetly at him.

“The best,” Jehan assured him, twisting closer and kissing Courfeyrac on the nose. Courfeyrac grinned at him and knelt down again so that Jehan could climb off of him. Jehan swung down and knelt in front of Courfeyrac. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Courfeyrac parroted, accepting Jehan’s smiling kiss before tackling him to the ground.

* * *

“We are going to get the most apples, and we are going to _win_ , and Cosette is going to owe me twenty bucks, and no one can stop us!” Feuilly declared as he climbed up to the next branch of the tree he was in. He threw another few apples down to Bahorel, who caught them in their basket.

“Everyone else is probably making out,” Bahorel pointed out. Feuilly frowned down at him.

“You’re very negative,” Feuilly scolded. Bahorel shrugged.

“I’m just saying. Everyone else brought their boyfriends or girlfriends, except us,” Bahorel defended. Feuilly climbed up to the next branch.

“Eponine and ‘Ferre didn’t. Gavroche didn’t,” Feuilly argued. Bahorel just shrugged again and caught the next round of apples easily, the heavy basket no match for his strength just as climbing the tree is no match for Feuilly’s lithe frame. “It’s not like we’re dating anyone anyways.”

“We could always date each other,” Bahorel suggested. Feuilly hung his head upside-down and peered at Bahorel curiously.

“Do you _want_ to date me?” Feuilly asked, disbelieving. Bahorel thought for a moment.

“Not really. I like women,” Bahorel answered, looking up at Feuilly in the trees. Feuilly rolled his eyes and disappeared into the leaves again.

“Well, then why’d you suggest it?” Feuilly shouted down. Bahorel shielded himself from a barrage of falling apples. “At least you’ve got your fish! I’m all alone!”

“We can share Francois! We don’t have an exclusive relationship!” Bahorel laughed. Feuilly bent his legs around a branch and hung upside-down from the tree. He whipped an apple at Bahorel’s head.

“I hate you, man,” Feuilly exclaimed, reaching up to pluck another apple to throw at Bahorel. His muscular friend ducked out of sight.

* * *

Marius lifted Cosette up, his hands tightly gripping her hips as he held her up to the tree. Cosette reached up and grabbed an apple in each hand, yanking them down.

“We have to beat Feuilly,” Cosette insisted, tossing the apples into their basket and letting Marius lift her up again.

“Of course we’ll beat Feuilly, he’ll get distracted by the leaves and start making them into fans or something,” Marius assured her. Cosette laughed as she pulled down a couple more apples; Marius set her back down on the ground. She threw the apples in the direction of their basket and turned around to face Marius; he rested his hands on her hips and smiled at her.

“Having fun?” Cosette asked softly. Marius nodded and rested his forehead against Cosette’s. “Good, good.”

“Are you alright? You seem a little... I don’t know, off.” Marius furrowed his brow; Cosette rested her palms flat against his chest and looked down. Marius stepped back slightly and took her hands in his. “Cosette, what is it? You can tell me, you know. You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” Cosette said softly. “It’s just... you love me, right?”

“Of course I love you. I’ll always love you,” Marius promised, a concerned frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“And you’re sure that you’ll always love me?” Cosette continued. Marius nodded enthusiastically.

“Of course, of course I’m sure.” Marius squeezed her hands and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. “You can tell me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cosette shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

* * *

Bossuet yawned and looked up at the tree above his head. Joly had his head in his lap, and Bossuet had been running his fingers through the nurse’s hair for a while now; when he looked down, Joly was fast asleep.

Bossuet bent down to kiss Joly’s temple before leaning back, smiling, and closing his own eyes. The others, he was sure, will collect enough apples for all of them to use later.

* * *

“Gavroche, please don’t fall!” Eponine called up into the tree her brother had disappeared into. Combeferre shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and peered up into the tree.

“He’ll be alright,” Combeferre assured her. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Have you met Gavroche? He’ll be trying to jump from the top within the hour.” Eponine looked back up into the tree worriedly. Combeferre moved closer to her.

“Well, I’ll catch him,” Combeferre promised. Eponine was about to say something when a rustling came from the trees and Gavroche slid off his branch. Combeferre hurried forward and caught the young boy, who immediately began laughing. Combeferre turned around and smiled at Eponine. “What did I tell you?”

“Yeah, well,” Eponine murmured, kicking at the grass. Gavroche scrambled onto Combeferre’s back; the man wrestled him off and onto the ground. Gavroche took off like a rocket back up the tree.

“See? I can handle kids,” Combeferre teased, coming back up to stand at Eponine’s side. Eponine looked back up into the tree.

“You’re always so serious. I can’t see you with kids,” Eponine explained. Combeferre shrugged.

“I guess. I do want kids, though,” Combeferre confessed. Eponine nodded slowly.

“You’d be a good father,” Eponine said softly. Combeferre looked over at her in surprise; she just turned her eyes down to look at the grass under their feet.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me,” Combeferre replied, his voice low and quiet. Eponine looked up at him.

“You’re welcome.” Eponine’s voice had dropped into a whisper. Combeferre turned and ran his eyes over Eponine’s face; it was not lost on her that his gaze lingered on her lips. She licked her lips subconsciously and leaned forward a bit, which was all the urging that Combeferre needed to lean down and kiss her. Eponine blinked up at him before raising her hands up to wind in his hair; Combeferre placed his hands on the small of her back and tugged her closer. Eponine closed her eyes and sighed.

Combeferre yanked away from her when a noise came from the tree. He tipped his head back and held his arms out just in time to catch Gavroche again. The boy hit him in the back of the head and squirmed out of his arms.

“Stop kissing my sister!” Gavroche shouted at him before climbing back up the tree. Combeferre laughed and ignored Gavroche’s order. Eponine smiled into the kiss, but she pulled back when she heard voices coming towards them. Gavroche climbed down the tree at the sound of the voices, and Eponine knelt down and grabbed her brother’s hand.

“Don’t tell any of the others what you saw, okay?” Eponine asked. Gavroche leaned in.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Gavroche whispered conspiratorially, punctuating the statement with a dramatic wink. Eponine winked back and kissed her brother’s forehead. He rubbed the sleeve of his sweater on his forehead before running at Courfeyrac.

“I picked the most apples!” Gavroche declared. Courfeyrac swung the boy onto his shoulders and carried him the rest of the way down to Eponine and Combeferre.

“I’m sure you did. Don’t let Feuilly or Cosette hear you, though. They’re both very sensitive, apple-wise,” Courfeyrac informed him. Jehan laughed just as Grantaire came bounding towards them, Enjolras following behind at a slower pace. Jehan and Enjolras set their baskets down side-by-side. The brilliant early autumn sunset shined behind them, the lovely symbol of a day well spent. Gavroche's favorite apple basket was the one he and Grantaire filled, though why the boy had taken such an intense liking to the artist as of late was anyone's guess. Grantaire began laughing wildly, apparently at a joke in his own head.

“He drank all his coffee,” Enjolras offered as an explanation. He sat down against a tree and observed as Grantaire laid down in the grass and pulled out his sketchbook and pencils. He motioned for Enjolras to turn his face away; once the blonde obeyed, Grantaire began drawing him enthusiastically. Eponine waved at Marius and Cosette as the couple came down the hill; her hand fell slightly at the shell-shocked expression on Marius’ face. Joly and Bossuet ran ahead of him, racing each other and getting tangled together, collapsing at the bottom of the hill. Bahorel came behind Marius, looking at him curiously; Feuilly did a cartwheel past him and somersaulted down the hill.

“What’s wrong?” Combeferre asked Marius. Cosette looked up at him worriedly and squeezed his hand. Marius set down his apple basket.

“Cosette’s pregnant,” Marius said softly. Everyone stood still; Enjolras raised an eyebrow. Eponine was, surprisingly, the first one forward.

“Congratulations, guys, I’m so happy for you!” Eponine exclaimed, pulling Marius into a hug, then Cosette. Grantaire grinned widely and did the same, which jolted the others out of their shock into hugging their two friends. Combeferre and Enjolras exchanged a look.

“‘Ponine, I need your help over here, packing up. I left some stuff in the trees.” Grantaire grabbed Eponine’s hand and brought her to where he had abandoned his drawing supplies. Jehan trailed after them, his brow furrowed in concern. His concerns were confirmed when, under the cover of the trees and their trunks, Eponine turned and started to cry. Grantaire pulled her close and started rubbing her back; Jehan hugged her from behind and kissed the back of her head.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jehan said softly. Eponine nodded against Grantaire’s chest.

“I know. It’s just really over,” Eponine hiccupped. Jehan stepped back and started playing with her hair gently, braiding it into soft plaits.

“Love you, kid,” Grantaire murmured into her hair. Eponine took a deep breath and stepped back, wiping at her eyes.

“I love you, too,” Eponine said softly, forcing a watery smile. Jehan wiped her tears away and kissed her cheek. Eponine hugged him tightly.

“Alright, let’s actually pack up my shit and get back over there before Cosette catches on,” Grantaire laughed, kneeling to gather his things. “God knows Marius won’t.”

“That’s mean,” Eponine scolded, but she laughed despite her words as she slapped Grantaire on the shoulder. Jehan shoved odds and ends into Grantaire’s satchel and held it up to the artist. Grantaire took it with a thankful smile and slung it across his chest.

“Marius definitely doesn’t look like he’s thinking about anything else,” Jehan said under his breath. Grantaire nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, this is going to be interesting,” Grantaire replied before jogging off and handing his sketchpad to Enjolras, who took one look at it and smiled slightly. Courfeyrac gasped and clutched a hand to his heart.

“The world is ending. We have evidence that Marius got laid, and now Enjolras is _smiling_ ,” Courfeyrac shouted dramatically. Jehan snorted, which only started Cosette laughing, and soon all of them were laughing - well, except for Enjolras, who was fighting very hard to get the smile off his face, and Marius, who still looked vaguely shaky.

“This isn’t just evidence he had sex,” Cosette scolded through her laughter. A small smile cracked onto Marius’ face.

“Holy crap,” Marius breathed. Eponine took his hand, and he smiled down at her before kissing her temple. “This is real, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” Eponine replied, squeezing his hand and smiling back. She looked down after a moment and walked away, taking Combeferre’s hand instead - nobody seemed to notice, so Combeferre kissed the back of her hand.

“We got a shitload of apples, it’s basically unreal,” Gavroche said loudly. Bahorel lifted Gavroche up over his head and lowered him onto his shoulders.

“Watch your mouth, kiddo, we’re in public.” Eponine poked her brother’s shin and earned a toothy grin in return. Bahorel deposited the child onto Enjolras’ shoulders; the blond looked confused, but he gripped Gavroche’s ankles and carried him anyways. Gavroche settled one hand in Enjolras’ hair and used the other to grab at apples as they walked back up the hill, showed the woman running the orchard their spoils, and then hauled their baskets to Joly’s trunk.

Joly looked back at everyone in the van as he slid into the driver’s seat. Cosette, Marius, Eponine, and Combeferre were shoved in the back row, in that order; it seemed as though Cosette was already asleep, Marius and Eponine were talking in hushed tones, and Combeferre was gazing blankly at the back of Eponine’s head. Courfeyrac and Jehan were shoved in the next row beside Grantaire and Enjolras, who had a lapful of a sleepy Gavroche. The captain’s seats held Feuilly and Bahorel, who were bickering back and forth over something about Francois. Bossuet reached over and grasped Joly’s hand, giving him a smile. Joly smiled back and started the car, ready for the long ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line that Jehan says is Italian, it means "My mind is not where it's supposed to be," and it is from the poem "Upside Down" by Delia Leeanne.
> 
> I'm going to be extremely busy in the next couple of weeks. Like our darling Les Miserables cast, I'm going to be in a musical whose opening night is next week, so I'm going to be going way hardcore for a little while here. I apologize in advance for how this will affect my updating speed as well as my writing itself, most likely. (If you're curious, I'm in 42nd Street.)
> 
> Have a nice night! I hope you enjoyed the Oscars - Les Miserables all the way!
> 
> As per usual, editing will come with time; I just wanted to give you everything, small spelling and grammar issues will be fixed as I read and reread this.


	7. The One With The Romantic Kitchen Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jehan just wants a bowl of cereal, Grantaire and Enjolras steal some coffee, Bossuet really should smile more, and Combeferre just can't catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of an interlude? There's no real plot-advancing going on here. Just some little domestic fluff for fun.

“Do you want coffee?” Eponine asked, popping a K-Cup into the coffeemaker. Combeferre pulled at the sweater she was wearing - one of his, an oversized, knitted, blue monstrosity - and kissed the back of her neck.

“Sure, I’ll have coffee,” Combeferre murmured into her shoulder. Eponine turned around in his arms and smiled at him.

“Then I will make you some coffee,” Eponine said softly. Combeferre reached around her and pressed the start button on the Keurig machine; his mug began to fill automatically. Eponine shrugged. “It’s basically the same thing as me making it.”

“Basically,” Combeferre agreed, grinning down at her. Eponine pushed his glasses up for him. Combeferre bent his head down and kissed her slowly, quietly, his passion building, until a sudden noise outside the kitchen door broke them apart. Eponine’s head whipped around, and Combeferre jerked back to avoid getting hit by her hair. The voices coming towards them were easily recognizable, and Eponine looked up at Combeferre with fear in her eyes.

“It’s Enjolras and Grantaire,” Eponine whispered. Combeferre hesitated before grabbing her hand and pulling her into the pantry; he shut the door tightly behind him. Eponine buried her face in Combeferre’s chest and kept quiet as the voices came closer and into the kitchen. Combeferre peered through the slats of the pantry door.

“There’s already coffee here,” Enjolras said on the other side of the door, his voice sounding confused. Combeferre watched as Grantaire hopped up onto the counter beside the coffee machine and shrugged.

“It was probably, you know, Marius and Cosette, or Jehan and Courf, and they got horny and left it behind,” Grantaire reasoned. Enjolras looked convinced as he took one of the cups of coffee and passed the other to Grantaire. Eponine scowled, but Combeferre’s hand in hers quieted her. “So, what do you want to do today?”

“I have some studying to do,” Enjolras replied, sipping at the mug of coffee and leaning against the counter next to Grantaire’s leg.

“I’ll stay in with you.” Grantaire took a long pull from his coffee and looked down over his mug at Enjolras. Combeferre noticed belatedly that while Enjolras was only wearing sweatpants, Grantaire was wearing boxers and a Free Trade shirt that was clearly Enjolras, and he grimaced.

“You don’t have to do that,” Enjolras said around a mouthful of coffee. Grantaire set his empty mug aside.

“I know, but I want to.” Grantaire leaned on one hand and ran the fingers of his other hand through Enjolras’ messy hair. Enjolras moved to stand between Grantaire’s legs, though his hands remained wrapped around his coffee mug.

“You can help me study,” Enjolras suggested. Grantaire just kept running his hand through Enjolras’ hair as he shrugged.

“Or I could just paint you,” Grantaire said in a low voice that Combeferre could barely hear. Enjolras sipped at his coffee, his eyes locked on Grantaire.

“You could do that,” Enjolras replied, his voice just as low, rumbling in his chest. Combeferre bit back an exasperated sigh. Eponine mimed gagging.

Grantaire plucked the mug from Enjolras’ fingers and set it beside his own on the counter. Enjolras touched Grantaire’s thighs tentatively, his fingers barely brushing the fabric of his boxers there before dancing up his sides. Grantaire smiled at him and bent down to kiss him; Enjolras received him eagerly. Combeferre shut his eyes and turned away, scowling at Eponine, who continued watching with far too much enthusiasm.

“They’re gone,” Eponine whispered a couple of minutes later. Combeferre smiled and went to push open the door as another pair of voices entered the kitchen; Eponine groaned. Combeferre sat down on the floor, leaning against a package of water. Eponine remained at the door, watching for the newcomers. “Joly and Bossuet.” Combeferre nodded in her direction and yawned, stretching his arms above his head, biting back a satisfied groan when his joints popped.

“What are they doing?” Combeferre asked, as quietly as his deep voice would go. Eponine shrugged, but did not spare him a glance as she observed the couple in the kitchen.

“They look ready to go out, they’re fully dressed, but they’re just making out,” Eponine replied in a hushed voice. “God, now, what, Joly’s fretting about something, and now he’s washing their hands together- okay, they’re mak- alright, now they’re doing both, okay.”

“That’s weird,” Combeferre muttered to himself. Eponine held back a laugh.

“Oh, Joly’s talking. He said he’s looking forward to seeing Musichetta today, and Bossuet smiled- Oh, I don’t think we see Bossuet smile enough,” Eponine whispered. Combeferre raised an eyebrow at her, but otherwise did not comment. “They’re gone, but they said something to someo- Yeah, Jehan and Courfeyrac are here. Switch off.”

“What?” Combeferre hissed. Eponine pulled at his elbow.

“I said switch off, get up, you’re going to watch them and I’m going to take a seat for a bit,” Eponine replied under her breath. Combeferre rolled his eyes, but switched places with her nonetheless, peering out at his friends. “Let me know what’s going on.” 

Combeferre looked down at Eponine; she had folded herself up in his seat, her arms wrapped around her bent legs, which were pressed to her chest. Combeferre smiled weakly at her before returning his attention to the kitchen, where Jehan was struggling to make cereal. Courfeyrac seemed to be the source of the struggling, since he kept pressing himself against Jehan, his hands running everywhere. Jehan smacked at him to fight him off, but he seemed to be fighting a losing battle. He finally gave up, left the box alone on the table, and let Courfeyrac do what he wanted.

Combeferre pulled his head back slightly at the sight of his two friends - both in boxers and a sweater of Jehan’s each, ghastly, colorful jumpers decorated with _kittens_ , of all things - touching each other like they would die if they separated. Eponine grinned widely at him.

“They’re just... _touching_ each other,” Combeferre whispered to her. Eponine’s smile grew significantly. “This is weird.”

“This is fun,” Eponine corrected. Combeferre made a face at her, but returned his focus to his friends in the kitchen. Courfeyrac’s hands had made their way under Jehan’s abomination of a sweater; Combeferre closed his eyes briefly.

“We can’t do this in the kitchen,” Jehan hissed in Courfeyrac’s ear. Combeferre could not help but nod emphatically in agreement, though he could not be seen. Courfeyrac picked Jehan up and slung him over his shoulder in one swift movement; Jehan’s hair, free of his usual long braid, flew around Jehan’s face as he laughed. Courfeyrac grabbed the cereal box with his other hand and disappeared, nodding his hello to Feuilly, Bahorel, and Marius, who entered the kitchen after them. Combeferre fought the urge to slam his head against the door; he resisted, just barely. He sat down on the floor instead, situating Eponine in his lap. She accepted this change in events automatically, settling against him and relaxing. He kissed the top of her head and relaxed, half-listening to the people in the kitchen. He could faintly hear Bahorel telling Marius to name his child after his fish, but Feuilly was wholeheartedly disagreeing and rapid-fire suggesting names that sounded suspiciously Polish. Marius was brushing them off, telling them that he _promised_ he would make waffles for Cosette. While he began making the waffles, he started telling some relatively interesting news - he said he was going to Cosette’s father’s place today to tell him the news, and her father had some _police friend_ over (and the way Marius said “friend” was distinctly odd, Combeferre made a mental note to ask about that later).

Combeferre vaguely noticed when Bahorel and Feuilly left, citing plans to find him - _good luck with that_ , he thought in their general direction - and already beginning to organize a trip to the Musain that afternoon. Combeferre yawned again and closed his eyes. Eponine had already fallen into a quiet sleep in his lap. While Cosette’s musical voice on the other side of the door was interesting to listen to, Combeferre was tired, and Eponine was a warm weight against him, and it was too much to ask of him not to fall asleep on the floor of the tiny pantry.

Cosette opened the door about fifteen minutes later to retrieve cocoa powder; upon finding Combeferre and Eponine asleep together on the floor, hands entwined and bodies pressed flush against one another’s, she motioned Marius over silently. Marius came, standing behind her with a confused frown before he noticed his friends. His expression softened, and he kissed the side of Cosette’s head before shutting the door for her on the couple.

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” Cosette whispered, removing their warm waffles from the toaster and stacking them on a plate. Marius grinned widely.

“My lips are sealed,” Marius murmured back, kissing Cosette’s forehead and leading her out of the kitchen. Meanwhile, in the pantry, Combeferre smiled in his sleep when Eponine sighed and tightened her grip on his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm stressed out, and this helped. I hope you enjoyed it! As usual with the editing. I think we're on the same page by now.
> 
> Send me suggestions if you want anything. Really. I welcome it.


	8. The One Where Lots Of Fighting Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jehan is very monkey-like, Marius still doesn't know what's happening, Feuilly just isn't helping, and Bossuet is unlucky even when he's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I'm sorry or not.

The Musain had basically been occupied by the group of friends since the day Courfeyrac happened to stumble upon it in his first week of college. It had become something of a home away from home for the students, a place where they could be if they needed to get some fresh air, to unwind, or just to get out of the house for a little while. It was here that Combeferre found himself, sitting beside Grantaire, of all people, drinking Irish coffee at one of the small tables on the ground floor and absently watching Musichetta bustle about the room.

“Is there a particular reason you wanted me to come here with you?” Grantaire finally asked. Combeferre shifted in his seat and turned to look out the windows to his left. Grantaire kept quiet, letting Combeferre ready himself for whatever he wanted to talk about. That is one of the reasons Combeferre chose him to talk to; another reason was his experience.

“Did you... If Enjolras hadn’t, you know, done what he did, what do you think you would feel now? Towards him?” Combeferre forced out. He busied himself with taking a sip of his spiked black coffee. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him and put his mug down.

“Well, I’d probably still be in love with him,” Grantaire offered slowly. At Combeferre’s nod, he continued. “I don’t think I could’ve stopped, you know? It doesn’t matter that we’re together now. In that disappointing, sad alternate universe where I’m not together with Enjolras right now. It’s hard to stop loving someone, you know?”

“And... okay, this is going to be an odd question,” Combeferre prefaced. Grantaire waved a hand to urge him on, picking up his coffee again. Combeferre paused before speaking again. “Do you think Eponine loved Marius as much as you love Enjolras?”

“Maybe,” Grantaire answered. “It’s a different situation. She loves Marius because she believes it’s the absolute right thing to do, I suppose. Because she can’t help herself. I love Enjolras because I can’t _do_ anything else.”

“I see.” Combeferre looked down into his coffee mug. Grantaire frowned.

“What context is this in? Are you going to tell Enjolras? I’m pretty sure he already knows, but I can’t really risk scaring him off,” Grantaire said hesitantly. Combeferre looked up at him curiously.

“I don’t think you’ll scare him off,” Combeferre assured him. Grantaire shrugged and turned his attention out the window. “The context this is in is that... I’m worried about Eponine, I guess. I don’t think she’ll ever get over him.”

“She has to heal. Love hurts, ‘Ferre,” Grantaire sighed, taking a sip of his coffee and fixing Combeferre with a dark stare that Combeferre had not quite known the light-hearted artist to be capable of; despite this, his expression had a previously unseen hope hidden underneath. “If you’re interested in her, you’ll have to give her time. You should really be talking to her about this, not me.”

“Well, you’re one of her best friends. You keep secrets. And you have... I don’t know, experience with this kind of thing,” Combeferre listed off. Grantaire shrugged again.

“I suppose. I’ll keep your secret,” Grantaire assured him needlessly. Combeferre nodded in the general direction of Grantaire. “But, still. You should talk to her.”

“Yeah, alright,” Combeferre agreed, draining the last of his coffee. “You have a class later this afternoon, don't forget.”

Grantaire frowned, his brow furrowing with it. “How did you know that?”

“Enjolras yelled it down the stairs when we were leaving,” Combeferre reminded him. Grantaire took his last sips of coffee and stood.

“I’ll go home and get ready for class, then. Gotta paint and stuff,” Grantaire murmured, picking up his coat and his bag. “See you later. Good luck with ‘Ponine.”

“Thanks,” Combeferre muttered, picking up their mugs and bringing them to Musichetta; she took them with a grateful nod and a sympathetic smile. Combeferre returned the smile, though he did not want to see it.

“Tell Joly and Bossuet to swing by?” Musichetta requested, though it sounded more like an instruction. Combeferre nodded and kissed the back of her hand before leaving. The walk from the Musain to their home was not long, but it was not exactly short, either. Combeferre still found himself at his own front door far earlier than he expected; he supposed he had the comfortably cool weather and the hectic state of his mind to thank for that. He opened the door to find Eponine and Cosette sitting together on the sofa in the living room, their heads bowed close together as they talked about something in low tones. Combeferre shut the door behind him and awkwardly cleared his throat; the girls looked up at him.

“Could I talk to you, Eponine?” Combeferre asked, his voice quiet. Eponine nodded and stood up; he took her hand and led her back outside. “I thought we’d go for a walk.”

Eponine shut the door behind them and shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt. She walked beside him in silence for a short while before Combeferre decided to speak again. He had planned on being more subtle, but he panicked and blurted out his question before he had time to think it through.

“Are you still in love with Marius?” Combeferre wanted to hit himself for being so blunt. Eponine froze in her tracks and stared up at him. “I’m sorry-”

“What kind of question is that?” Eponine spat. Combeferre frowned at her, his temper rising with hers.

“A reasonable one, I think. If I’m going to go into this with you, I think I should know if you’re still in love with one of my closest friends,” Combeferre demanded. Eponine’s expression quickly became angry and offended.

“I think that’s none of your business!” Eponine exclaimed, stepping back from him. Combeferre clenched his jaw.

“I think it’s _especially_  my business!” Combeferre’s blue eyes were alight with fire; Eponine glared back at him, unblinking, all the same.

“Yes, I love him! Is that what you want to hear?” Eponine’s voice was loud and high, and it was scratching at Combeferre’s ears like a feral cat. “I can’t stop loving him, no matter how much I want to!”

“You clearly don’t want to stop, Eponine!” Combeferre shouted back, his hands coming up uselessly. His heart ached; this is why he never got involved, people like her who toy with others. “I can’t handle this from you. You can’t do this to me.”

“You’re the one making accusations, the one who just sprung this out of nowhere!” Eponine’s face was bright red. Combeferre felt sickly pleased. “This is _extremely_  unfair-”

“Oh, and it’s not unfair that I’m falling in love with someone who’s still in love with somebody else?” Combeferre snarled back. Eponine shut her mouth. “You’re not right for me. I _knew_ you weren’t right for me, but I tried anyways, because I believed in you. I was fucking _stupid_ to think this could work.”

“Combeferre-” Eponine began, but Combeferre raised his hand and cut her off.

“Don’t. Don’t even start, because I can’t look at you right now,” Combeferre said softly, his voice eerily low. Eponine preferred when he was screaming, because she could scream back; when he was all quiet and devastated, she lost her footing. Combeferre met her eyes for a brief moment before stepping back and beginning the return walk back to the house. Eponine remained standing on the sidewalk, her fists clenched, bitter tears lingering in her eyes.

Combeferre stormed into the house and slammed the front door behind him. Cosette jerked up, still in her seat on the sofa.

“What’s wrong?” Cosette asked worriedly, her voice soft. Combeferre ignored her, flying up the sets of stairs to his room and kicking the bedroom door shut behind him. He was surprised to find Courfeyrac and Jehan curled up together on his bed while Feuilly and Bossuet were lounging on Feuilly’s bed.

“What the hell are you all doing in here?” Combeferre demanded loudly. Jehan jumped and looked up at him, on the verge of tears.

“We’re hiding. Enjolras and Grantaire got in a fight while you were out with Eponine,” Courfeyrac explained. Jehan looked visibly shaken.

“I think the walls trembled with this one,” Feuilly offered. He frowned at Combeferre. “And what has your panties in a bunch?”

“I got in a fight with Eponine,” Combeferre growled, throwing himself down in his desk chair and slamming his head on the wood of his desk. Bossuet raised an eyebrow.

“What about?” Bossuet asked, trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice. Combeferre did not lift his head to answer.

“I think I’m in love with her,” Combeferre grumbled into the desk. “And she led me on. She’s still in love with Marius.”

Jehan burst into tears. Courfeyrac pulled him closer into the circle of his arms and kissed the top of his head. Bossuet got up and laid a hand on Combeferre’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, man,” Bossuet said in a low voice. Combeferre nodded and sighed heavily, steadying himself.  


“I was foolish to think it would work out anyways. She’s all wrong for me.” Combeferre sat back in his chair and looked up sadly at Bossuet. “I shouldn’t’ve thought it would last.”  


“Love doesn’t need to be rational. It just needs to be real,” Feuilly threw in. “You just have to wait for it. She’ll come around. It’s hard not to love you, really, you’re a great guy.”  


“Thanks,” Combeferre murmured, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t want to think about it right now.”  


“How long have you two been together, then?” Courfeyrac asked over Jehan’s quiet crying.  


“Just two weeks. Since the apple orchard,” Combeferre answered miserably. Bossuet pat his shoulder in what Combeferre assumed was supposed to be a soothing manner.  


“I thought we were friends, man. I’ve known you since you shit your pants,” Courfeyrac complained. Jehan hiccupped and burrowed his face in Courfeyrac’s neck, twisting his body so that he was wrapped around Courfeyrac.  


“I wanted to make sure there was something to tell first. Turns out there’s not.” Combeferre stood up and cracked his back. He looked over at Jehan worriedly. “Is he going to be alright?”  


“Enjolras and Grantaire’s fight was pretty nasty,” Feuilly told him from the bed, his ankles crossed and his hands behind his head as he relaxed. He did not look all that bent out of shape; then again, nothing except abandonment ever seemed to bother Feuilly.  


“What was it about this time?” Combeferre asked, sitting on the edge of his own bed and pulling Jehan into a wordless hug. The poet clung to him desperately, like a child. Combeferre rubbed his back.  


“God knows. They fight about everything. This was one of the worst ones as of late, though,” Bossuet replied, taking Combeferre’s empty office chair. Jehan sniffled.  


“I think they were fighting about Grantaire’s drinking again,” Courfeyrac offered. “And Grantaire got defensive, and Enjolras brought up Grantaire’s parents-”  


“Oh, damn,” Combeferre winced, temporarily forgetting his own problems when confronted with his friends’. Courfeyrac nodded.  


“‘Oh, damn,’ is right. Then Grantaire got angrier and started yelling about how Enjolras didn’t respect him, and Enjolras said he hadn’t earned respect, and Grantaire said he loved him, was that not enough, and Enjolras just kind of stood there.” Courfeyrac nodded sagely at his description. Feuilly shrugged.  


“Grantaire is now under the impression Enjolras doesn’t care about him. They looked about seconds away from tearing each other’s throats out,” Feuilly ran a hand through his hair. “Enjolras is hiding in the attic, Grantaire left for God knows where-”  


Feuilly’s sentence was cut off at the sound of a doorbell. Jehan lifted his head curiously; nobody ever rang the doorbell here. The more curious thing, however, was that the buzz was prolonged, as though someone was leaning on the doorbell. When the ringing did not stop, Courfeyrac stood and left to answer it, Jehan hot on his heels. On the stairs, Jehan climbed onto Courfeyrac’s back and hung onto him tiredly. Courfeyrac supported the clinging monkey-like man and swung the front door open.  


“Hey, baby,” Grantaire murmured tiredly, continuing to lean on the doorbell as he grinned at Courfeyrac. Jehan looked heartbroken; Courfeyrac just sighed and pulled Grantaire inside.  


“What the hell is that noise?” Enjolras growled, storming down the stairs. He hesitated as he caught sight of Grantaire.  


“Hello there,” Grantaire slurred, releasing Courfeyrac’s hand and walking in a slightly crooked line towards Enjolras. The blond stepped back slightly. “Oh, don’t be like that.”  


“You’re drunk,” Enjolras accused needlessly. Courfeyrac shut the door; Jehan hid his face in Courfeyrac’s neck, still clinging tightly to his boyfriend’s back.  


“And you are beautiful, but, in the morning, I'll be sober,” Grantaire answered before frowning. "Wait, something's wrong with that. I think I said it wrong." His voice was shaky, and Enjolras looked as though he was on the verge of disgust.  


“Why did you even come back here like this?” Enjolras spat at him. Grantaire did not look offended, though he did look concerned when their friends began to file into the room.  


“Where’s Eponine?” Grantaire asked, already distracted. Enjolras threw his hands up.  


“She went out,” Combeferre replied quietly. Grantaire zeroed in on him.  


“Where’d she go? It’s late.” Grantaire’s loud voice was suspicious. Feuilly’s eyes were darting around like he was watching a tennis match.  


“We got in a fight,” Combeferre explained vaguely.  


“And you let her go out?” Grantaire gripped the back of the sofa and stood up straighter. “I should find her.”  


“You should sober up.” Enjolras reached out and took hold of Grantaire’s wrist. Grantaire jerked back and yanked his arm from Enjolras’ grasp; the blond glared at him. “Grantaire-”  


“Don’t tell me what to do. Eponine’s out there somewhere and Combeferre just left her, so I have to get her, and I have to.” Grantaire’s eyebrows furrowed. “I have to find her.”  


“I’ll find her. You stay here,” Enjolras ordered. Grantaire’s eyes focused on him.  


“I’m not staying here while Eponine-” Grantaire began, but he was cut off by the front door swinging open. Jehan and Bahorel both looked startled; Bossuet tripped backwards. Eponine slammed the door behind her and had the decency to look surprised when Grantaire threw himself at her. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”  


“Me, too?” Eponine answered, looked over at Enjolras with confusion evidence on her face.  


“He’s drunk,” Enjolras explained tiredly. Eponine pat Grantaire’s back.  


“I’m fine, Grantaire. I just got in a fight with Combeferre and needed some air for a bit,” Eponine murmured quietly to him. Grantaire kissed her cheek and pulled away.  


“What’d you fight about?” Grantaire asked, seeming to sober slightly at the serious tone Eponine held.  


“We’ll talk later,” Eponine promised, her voice low so that only Grantaire could hear her. He nodded once and squeezed her hand. Enjolras came forward and laid a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.  


“I should take you upstairs. We can talk about our argument when you’re sober.” Enjolras’ voice was less angry, but that was not to say that it was pleased. He led an exhausted-looking Grantaire away, leaving the rest of the group alone in the awkward tension of the living room. Combeferre looked at Eponine for a split second before turning and following Enjolras and Grantaire up the stairs. Cosette stepped forward and took Eponine’s hands.  


“Will you come help Joly and I make dinner?” Cosette asked, her voice soft and gentle. Eponine nodded and allowed herself to be led to the kitchen by Cosette and Joly. Gavroche looked helplessly at Courfeyrac, who nodded once; the young boy nodded back and trailed his sister into the kitchen. Marius looked at a loss.  


“What just happened here?” Courfeyrac demanded loudly the moment Gavroche was gone. Jehan sniffled and pressed his face into Courfeyrac’s back; he had still not climbed down from his boyfriend yet, and had no plans to do so in the immediate future.  


“It looks, to me, as though Eponine and Combeferre are... involved, in some way, and they fought over it- probably because ‘Ponine’s still in love with you,” Bahorel motioned to an alarmed Marius, “and because Combeferre has no experience with women beyond his little sisters.”  


“Since when did you get so perceptive?” Courfeyrac laughed. Bahorel raised an eyebrow at him.  


“I am always perceptive,” Bahorel answered ominously. Courfeyrac stopped laughing and straightened his back; Jehan clung to him in order to keep from falling to the floor. “Don’t make me spill your secrets.”  


“I have no secrets to spill,” Courfeyrac declared, squaring his shoulders. Jehan gave up and slid, landing on his feet like a cat and nuzzling his way into Courfeyrac’s side, pulling Courfeyrac’s long arm around him.  


“You had sex with Grantaire that one time,” Bahorel automatically announced. Jehan turned his head up and raised an eyebrow at Courfeyrac.  


“It was more than one time,” Courfeyrac responded with a grin. Enjolras returned to the room.  


“What was more than one time?” Enjolras asked, leaning in the doorway. Jehan’s eyes widened impossibly; Feuilly began grinning widely. Courfeyrac groped around for words.  


“Uhm...” Courfeyrac trailed off, looking down at Jehan for help. The poet shook his head, panicked. Feuilly, apparently deciding this was not worth the wait, threw Courfeyrac under the bus for him.  


“Courfeyrac has, evidently, had sex with Grantaire more than one time,” Feuilly informed their blond leader. Courfeyrac barely had time to raise his hands before Enjolras had crossed the room and punched Courfeyrac in the jaw.  


“Hey!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, pushing Jehan behind him protectively and raising his own fists in defense. “What the hell was that? It was before you got together!”  


“He told me he’s loved me since we met. He's known me just as long as he's known you,” Enjolras spat, his fists clenched at his sides, looking ready to fight if need me. “You took advantage of him?”  


“No!” Courfeyrac shouted. Enjolras’ face was bright red, and it made him look like he was on fire. “You always ignored him! He got lonely, Enjolras! I’d rather it be me than some random person he picked up in a bar!”  


“Why is everyone fighting?” Jehan wailed miserably.  


“Be quiet, Jehan!” Courfeyrac growled loudly. Jehan looked heartbroken in the split second before he ran out of the room. “No, Jehan, I didn’t mean that!”  


Grantaire let Jehan blow past him on the stairs as he dragged himself back into the living room. “What the hell is going on now? I fall asleep for three minutes and all hell breaks- Courfeyrac, what the hell happened to your face?”  


“Enjolras punched him,” Feuilly replied eagerly, far too giddy for the situation at hand.  


“Are you daft? What the fuck did you do that for? He's got a head injury,” Grantaire scolded, coming up to a worried-looking Courfeyrac and turning his face this way and that, his hold on Courfeyrac’s jaw strong.  


“Of course you’re going to take his side.” Enjolras threw his hands in the air. Grantaire turned around to face him.  


“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grantaire demanded. Feuilly’s joy at the show was beginning to slip. Bahorel looked ready to stop a fight - or maybe he was just eager for a fight.  


“You slept with Courfeyrac!” Enjolras’ anger seemed to explode out of him with those four words. Grantaire’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before his expression became one of realization rather than misunderstanding.  


“Yes, like, a year ago. Why does that matter now? I thought you knew,” Grantaire’s anger disappeared in the face of this new confusion.  


“Obviously, I didn’t!” Enjolras ran his hands through his hair. “I’m going out.”  


“No, you’re going to stay here and work through this,” Bahorel insisted. Bossuet smacked his stomach and frowned at him. Bahorel slapped his arm in return, but fell silent anyways. He left for the kitchen without another word.  


Enjolras looked furious; he stormed down the hallway and slammed the door to his office shut. Grantaire looked to be at a loss. He turned to Courfeyrac and raised his hands in the air before letting them fall to his sides uselessly.  


“What the hell was all this?” Grantaire demanded. Courfeyrac only spared him a brief shrug before he abandoned the room at large and took the stairs three at a time to go after Jehan. Grantaire made his way over to the sofa and put his head in his hands.  


“And people call _you_ the unlucky one, mate,” Feuilly murmured, nudging Bossuet. The bald man shook his head.  


“I’m unlucky for having to live with them. I’m going to go see if I can’t steal Musichetta from the Musain for dinner. Maybe she can help out, or at least take care of Gavroche while Eponine deals with her shit.” Bossuet shrugged his coat on and shoved his feet into his work boots.  


“Good lord, please let me come with you,” Feuilly begged. Bossuet nodded and motioned him forward. Feuilly grabbed his coat and shoes and followed Bossuet out the door. The only person left standing in the room was Marius, who looked more confused than was normal for him.  


“What just happened?” Marius exclaimed. Grantaire did not look up at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nitpick editing comes in time.


	9. The One Where Jehan Is Forgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Courfeyrac does not open unlocked doors, Jehan does not say very much, nobody gets up from the floor, and Courfeyrac is eventually forgiven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to have everyone else making up (breaking up? who knows, we'll see) in the next chapter. I just couldn't have these two be angry at each other for very long. Plus, I started this and was going to add more - have it be multi-part within this one chapter, everyone solving their problems, but I decided that I wanted Jehan and Courfeyrac to be alone. Voila, this short little thing. My work here is done (not really).

“Jehan, please open the door,” Courfeyrac begged, pounding on the door to their shared bedroom with the side of his fist. The poet sat on the other side, his back against the door, his knees drawn up to his chest. He stewed in his own anger and sadness, yet remained silent. “Come on, please. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m sorry.”

Jehan tipped his head back and looked at the door knob sadly. The door was not locked, but he knew that Courfeyrac held him in high respect, and if Jehan did not want him to come in, locked door or otherwise, he would not come in. Jehan wrapped his arms around himself and stayed quiet.

“I promise I didn’t mean to snap at you, Jehan.” Courfeyrac’s voice was softer now. Jehan tugged at the end of his braid with both hands nervously; he could hear a low thud when Courfeyrac slumped to the floor on the other side of the door. Jehan imagined that the only thing stopping them from leaning against each other was an inch or two of solid wood. “Jehan. Please. I love you.”  


Jehan gave up and scooted away from the door, twisting the knob and tugging the door open just slightly. Courfeyrac pulled himself in immediately and pulled Jehan into his arms. Jehan sighed and let himself be held by Courfeyrac right there on the floor before shutting the door with his foot.  


“I didn’t mean to snap at you. I love you,” Courfeyrac murmured into Jehan’s neck. Jehan tipped his head back and shifted, changing his position so that he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Courfeyrac shifted in turn, moving to sit on his folded legs. He raised a hand gingerly and ran his fingertips over Jehan’s face, from his temple, over his cheekbone, down his cheek and across his jawline. Jehan remained silent and unmoving, his eyes never leaving Courfeyrac’s face. Courfeyrac finally laid one hand on each side of Jehan’s face and leaned in; he let their noses brush together before he captured Jehan’s lips in the most tender kiss they had ever shared. Jehan sighed against Courfeyrac’s lips before opening the mouth and deepening the kiss.

Courfeyrac hesitated for a moment before he tilted his head and pulled Jehan closer, his hands moving to tangle in his poet’s messy braid. His eyelids felt heavy. Jehan moved, uncrossing his legs and climbing into Courfeyrac’s lap. Courfeyrac’s hands drifted downwards to grip Jehan’s hips; the poet pushed at Courfeyrac’s shoulders until he got the hint and pulled back, laying down on his back on the floor. Jehan laid down on top of him, kissing him fiercely before releasing him for air. Courfeyrac sighed and untied Jehan’s braid, combing the hair out with his fingers until it was long and spread across Jehan’s back in strawberry blonde curls. One of Jehan’s hand’s found its way to hold onto Courfeyrac’s hip while the other moved up and played absently with the curls of hair poking their way out from under his beanie (borrowed from Grantaire, as it conveniently covered the head bandages he was required to wear for quite awhile).

“Am I forgiven?” Courfeyrac asked softly. Jehan tipped his head up and kissed the underside of Courfeyrac’s jaw.

“You are,” Jehan whispered, his lips moving almost soundlessly against Courfeyrac’s skin. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was pretty cheery there at the end.  
> We'll see how cheery the next chapter ends up being.


	10. The One Where Grantaire Actually Wins An Argument, But Enjolras Finds A Way To Win Anyways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire is particularly talented at sobering up quickly, Enjolras gets painted (through no fault of his own), Marius just wants things to be normal again, and Gavroche finally obtains his cereal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little while to get out. I got stuck for a bit there, and I'm really busy and tired. BUT here it is anyways. Ta-da. It's not as bad as I thought it would be.
> 
> Also, just so you know, my headcanon for these guys is basically the film counterparts. Aaron Tveit, George Blagden, et cetera. Except Enjolras and Jehan have long hair, and Bossuet has no hair. I'll clarify any changes or questions regarding the canon for my universe as needed.

“I fucked up, that’s what happened. I fucked everything up,” Grantaire mumbled into his hands. Marius stood there awkwardly; though they lived in the same house, he was not as close to Grantaire as Eponine or Courfeyrac, and he had no idea what to say to comfort him when he was drunk and upset, despite this being a state he was often in. Instead, Marius made his way into the bathroom off the living room to shower and calm down; he hoped desperately that everything would be back to normal when he returned.

Grantaire shoved his hands through his hair and stood. Unlike Courfeyrac, Grantaire had no qualms about opening a closed door. He threw open the door to Enjolras’ office, causing the blond man leaning by the window to scowl at him before returning his attention to the road outside his window.

“Hey.” Grantaire’s voice was soft, despite his rough actions, and he shut the door gingerly behind him. Enjolras did not give him any greeting, choosing to just jump into accusations instead.

“You’re drunk,” Enjolras spat. Grantaire leaned against the closed door.

“Actually, I think I sobered up while you were screaming at me,” Grantaire informed him. Enjolras turned his head slightly to look Grantaire over.

“Why did you go out and get drunk instead of talking to me?” Enjolras asked, his voice less hostile and more steady now.

“Because you don’t talk to me. You scold me.” Grantaire crossed the room to the sofa pressed against the wall behind Enjolras. “I’m not a child, Enjolras. I’m your equal. You should treat me as such.”

“I don’t mean to treat you like a child.”  


“I know you don’t.” Grantaire held a hand out; Enjolras stepped forward and took it, sitting down beside Grantaire on the sofa. “I’d just rather you didn't.”  


Enjolras nodded a few times before looking down at their hands. “You slept with Courfeyrac.”  


“Yes, I did,” Grantaire replied hesitantly. He released Enjolras’ hand, forcing the blond to focus on something else; he raised his head and met Grantaire’s eyes.  


“You slept with Courfeyrac before you slept with _me_.” Enjolras’ voice sounded hurt now, and Grantaire was surprised by that; his leader almost never sounded hurt.  


“To be fair, you seemed to hate me and I was extremely lonely,” Grantaire pointed out. “Courfeyrac was there, and Jehan hadn’t told him anything yet. Enjolras, it was a year ago. You really have no right to be angry.”  


“I have every right to be angry,” Enjolras grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him.  


“You look like a petulant child,” Grantaire informed him. “Kind of acting like one, too.”  


“You slept with one of my best friends and never told me.” Enjolras’ eyes were angry, and Grantaire was a bit surprised to find them in such a state.  


“I thought you knew. Everyone knew.” Grantaire stood from the sofa, taking advantage of the position to look down at Enjolras; he succeeded in making the blond feel like the child that Grantaire was claiming he was acting like. “You know, this only proves how little attention you’ve paid me. And the rest of us; you’re saying Courfeyrac is your best friend and you didn’t notice anything?”  


“Courfeyrac sleeps with a lot of people,” Enjolras defended. Grantaire raised a hand.  


“Courfeyrac _slept_ with a lot of people," Grantaire corrected. "Now he only sleeps with Jehan.” Grantaire rubbed his suspended hand over his face. “You are incredibly frustrating. You’re always so wrapped in the world that you forget about the people in it.”  


Enjolras stood from the sofa so that he could be at eye level with Grantaire - well, as close to eye level as their small three-inch height difference would allow - and glared at him. “I work for the people. It’s not my fault you’re a sheep-”  


“Yeah, and what does that make you, Enjolras?  Little Bo Peep? We’re not animals.” Grantaire maintained eye contact for a moment before blinking and fixing his eyes on a point to the left of Enjolras’ head. “You live life too fast. You’re like... you’re James Dean, but you’re a rebel who’s got a cause. And, Enjolras, he lived life fast, but he _died_. That’s the point.”  


“Grantaire-”  


“No, damn it, let me finish.” Grantaire forced his hands through his hair, clearly on edge. His attention fell to his shoes, then roughly jerked back up to focus on Enjolras. “You live too fast, and you’re going to die. Me, though. I’m going to live forever. And sometimes, Enjolras, I just want... I want you to see sense. I want you to stop taking on so much. I want you to pay attention to the lives you change on a daily basis. Like, mine. Or Combeferre’s, or Marius’, or Eponine’s. Or Gavroche’s.”  


“I don’t...” Enjolras found himself grasping for words inside his own mind, his mouth slightly open as he struggled with speech. “Grantaire, I didn’t think-”  


“That much is obvious. And, Enjolras, I love you, but you need to... Oh, Christ, I don’t know what I’m saying.” Grantaire fell back onto the sofa, the anger blowing out of him as quickly as it blew in. Enjolras continued to stand, looking down at Grantaire in a sort of daze; while the lush fought with Enjolras just about every other day for some reason or another, the fights were not often so structured and prepared. It took Enjolras a moment to connect back to reality, and the reality of the situation was that Grantaire was wrapped around himself on the sofa, his elbows braced on his knees and his hands buried in his hair.  


Enjolras had a million different things to say tripping through his head, but the one that found its way out ended up being, “I like your haircut.”  


Grantaire lifted his head from his hands and watched Enjolras with a remarkably confused expression as the blond returned to his seat beside Grantaire on the office’s sofa. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”  


“Of course I noticed. You look neat.” Enjolras raised a hand gingerly and ran his fingers through Grantaire’s short, dark hair. “It doesn’t quite suit you, as a wild artist. But, as a person, you pull it off. You’re very handsome.”  


“That’s rich, coming from you.” Grantaire’s tone was self-deprecating and sarcastic, but there was a smile edging its way onto his way. Enjolras counted it as a win.  


“I don’t mean to ignore you. I’m worried about you, more often than not, you know. I worry that you’re going to leave us too soon, but it seems you feel the same about me. I am glad to hear I’ve made a difference in some way, though. No matter how roundabout the information happened to come to me,” Enjolras continued, his words coming out of him faster than he could think them, his hand still running through Grantaire’s hair. Grantaire still looked absolutely puzzled at this relatively positive turn of events. Enjolras wondered absently if Grantaire was still drunk; looking into his blue eyes, he found them bright and focused, and was relieved that he seemed to have sobered. Grantaire had a remarkable talent for sobering quickly when it needed to happen. Enjolras suspected that the talent came from years of necessity. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth.”  


Grantaire nodded and looked down at his hands, hanging off in front of his knees. Enjolras bowed his head close to Grantaire’s.  


“I love you, too, you know,” Enjolras murmured near Grantaire’s ear. The artist tipped his head slightly, his eyebrows drawing together; Enjolras noticed, not for the first time, how expressive Grantaire was, in his face and in his actions.  


“You’re going to have to say that again,” Grantaire choked, his voice tight and disbelieving. Enjolras moved too quickly to track, shoving Grantaire down on the sofa, pinning his arms to his sides and keeping his face barely an inch from his own.  


“I love you,” Enjolras repeated, his eyes darting back and forth between Grantaire’s. Grantaire swallowed.  


“Thank you,” Grantaire managed. He cleared his throat and shut his eyes. “That’s not what I meant to say. Well, it kind of was, but-”  


“Shut up,” Enjolras growled, claiming Grantaire’s mouth with his own.

"Maybe 'shut up' can be our 'always'," Grantaire teased, offering Enjolras a shaky smile. Enjolras tightened his grip on Grantaire's wrists.

"Grantaire. Shut up," Enjolras repeated. Grantaire immediately complied this time, their argument forgotten at once. Hands began scrabbling at clothes, and Enjolras recalled stumbling up and locking the office door at some point. 

* * *

It was often, in the mornings, that Grantaire would wake up to find Enjolras either already awake or not there at all. It was just habit, on both their parts; Enjolras rose early, drank a mug of black coffee right off the bat, and started on whatever work he needed to get done for that day, and Grantaire, when he did sleep, rose late, getting the sleep necessary to fuel his body, since he rarely ate and slept less often than Joly would have preferred. However, this morning was different, Enjolras quickly discovered.

First of all, he was on the sofa in his office, not in his bed in the attic.  


Second, Grantaire was nowhere in his line of sight, which means he must have left the office - the room really was not very large.  


Third, his chest felt oddly tight, like something was stuck to him. He sat up, letting the green blanket that Grantaire must have covered him with fall to his waist as he looked down at his chest. He was surprised to find a capital letter R painted over his heart in dark red. He grinned at it absently for a moment before remembering himself; he grabbed his pants off the floor and tugged them on before leaving the office. He found Grantaire set up in the kitchen, a miniature easel and canvas set up on the table, the surface of the kitchen table littered in small palettes and paint cans. He must have made some sort of noise, because Grantaire was suddenly turning around, his expression one of surprise and some fresh, rediscovered happiness. There was a bite mark bright and visible on his neck.  


“Enjolras, I didn’t know you were awake. Did you-” Grantaire’s unknown question was cut off when Enjolras kissed him deeply, tangling his hands tightly in Grantaire’s smock. Grantaire raised his hands, grabbing at Enjolras’ skin, his jaw, his hair, desperately. When the blond pulled back for air, Grantaire started laughing almost immediately. “You should not have done that.”  


“Why?”  Enjolras demanded, his voice scratchy with sleep. He raised a hand to his jaw and swiped his fingers there; he looked down at his hands and groaned. “Your hands are covered in paint.”  


“Guilty.” Grantaire shrugged and held up his hands. “You saw me painting. This doesn’t feel like my fault to me.”  


“You painted an R on my chest,” Enjolras stated, his eyes searching Grantaire’s face. Grantaire leaned back in his hard, wooden kitchen chair.  


“Correction: a painted an R over your heart.” Grantaire half-smiled at him and returned his attention to his small painting. “It’s where it belongs.”  


Enjolras hesitated before bending over and kissed Grantaire’s shoulder. “You’re not wrong.”  


“I’m not wrong quite a bit, you should listen to me more often,” Grantaire joked, picking up a thin brush again. “You should really shower, you’ve got it all over your back and in your hair, and, I hate to break it to you, but you’re blond and you’ve got an awful lot of hair. You don’t want that to dry there.”  


“Oh, my stars,” Jehan gasped from the doorway. Enjolras tensed up immediately as he heard Courfeyrac laughing and pulling out his phone to take a picture. Grantaire just tilted his head back and gave him a huge shit-eating grin.  


“You also probably don’t want to get caught,” Grantaire added needlessly. Enjolras smacked the side of his head and stalked past Jehan and Courfeyrac without a second glance. Courfeyrac blew a kiss at his blond leader while Jehan hurried to Grantaire at the table to see his little painting.  


“I’m glad you two aren’t fighting anymore,” Courfeyrac mentioned casually as he started making a fresh pot of coffee, since the most recent pot seemed to have been consumed by Grantaire and Grantaire alone, judging by the coffee mugs and Grantaire’s uncontrollably wide grin.  


“Trust me, I’m glad, too. And I’m glad you two aren’t fighting. The world weeps when our lovely Jehan frowns,” Grantaire replied, dabbing the tip of Jehan’s nose with a spot of yellow paint. The poet laughed.  


“Hey, now. It’s hard being me,” Jehan argued. “I’ve got to be beautiful and poetic and flowery, while also being protective and angry and able to throw a mean right hook.” Jehan picked up a brush and started absently painting a green landscape on the back of his hand. “The world ought to worry about me more when I frown.”  


“That’s why I love you,” Courfeyrac responded on instinct, kissing the top of Jehan’s head as he passed. Grantaire rolled his eyes and smiled at him; the morning continued to pass in silence as Jehan eventually made himself toast, Courfeyrac drank coffee with way too much milk and sugar as he braided Jehan’s hair for him, and Grantaire continued to paint on his tiny canvas, adding miniscule details to whatever his painting was of. The quiet was shattered when Enjolras returned, Gavroche secured tightly to his back.  


“He was trying to play piano,” Enjolras offered as an explanation when the boy slid down from his back and immediately flew to Grantaire’s side, trying to see what he was painting. Grantaire set his brush down and looked at Gavroche.  


“If you want to play, I can teach you,” Grantaire offered. Gavroche waved him off and grabbed Courfeyrac by the hand so that the man could make him breakfast; Gavroche could not reach the shelf where Courfeyrac stashed the sugary diabetic nightmares he called cereal.  


“Maybe later,” Gavroche allowed from his vantage point on the counter as Courfeyrac made him a bowl of cereal. Enjolras sat down between Grantaire and Jehan and allowed the poet to tie his long curls of blond hair into some twisted thing Jehan had been practicing; as long as it was out of his face, Enjolras really did not care. He craned his neck to see Grantaire’s little artwork.  


“It’s lovely,” Enjolras commented at once. Grantaire tried not to smile at him. “I love it.”  


“I love you,” Grantaire replied immediately, all too happy to finally be able to say it. Courfeyrac looked over at the pair of them and raised an eyebrow; Jehan’s hands stilled in Enjolras’ hair before he caught himself and continued his intricate twisting.  


“I love you, too,” Enjolras said in a low voice. Courfeyrac slammed his cereal box down on the table so hard that Gavroche jumped, Grantaire dropped his paintbrush, and Jehan accidentally pulled Enjolras’ hair back. Enjolras scowled and rubbed at the back of his head. “What the hell was that?”  


“You both are the _worst_ ,” Courfeyrac exclaimed before throwing himself at Enjolras, taking down both his leader and his poet at once. Grantaire watched in mild amusement; Gavroche just continued making his cereal by himself.  


“Has anyone heard from Combeferre or Eponine yet this morning?” Courfeyrac asked once the short wrestling match had ended and everyone was back to sitting around the table. Gavroche had finally obtained a completed bowl of cereal and was seated with the four college students, munching quietly on some milk-soaked confectionary nonsense.  


“Nope. I’ll go talk to Eponine in a bit, though,” Grantaire answered, his lip falling back between his teeth as he focused on a tiny detail on his painting.  


“‘Ponine cried for a long time last night,” Gavroche offered. Eight eyes turned to him. “Cosette came in after a while and just hugged her. She’s sad about ‘Ferre, Marius said.”  


“Marius is right,” Grantaire told him. “Don’t worry, though.”  


“I don’t worry about her. She’s stronger than the rest of us combined,” Gavroche informed the artist. Enjolras raised an eyebrow, but Grantaire nodded enthusiastically, pointing the paintbrush in his left hand at the boy.  


“You’re right, kid. You’re very right.” Grantaire added a couple of last touches to his canvas before throwing his brush down. “This isn’t happening right now. Let’s do something else.”  


“Teach me piano!” Gavroche insisted immediately, his sister and his cereal forgotten. Grantaire stood, picked the boy up under one arm, and carried him from the room upside down.  


“And then, just as suddenly as he came, he was gone,” Courfeyrac announced dramatically. Enjolras raised his eyebrows at him. “The man who stole our statue’s heart-”  


His sentence was cut off as Enjolras clamped a hand over his mouth and Jehan attacked him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll nitpick edit as time goes on.
> 
> Those of you who are fans of fun. might have recognized a couple of lines in this; they are from fun.'s song "Barlights" from the album 'Aim and Ignite'. Whenever I hear this song, I just think of E and R, so I just had to slip it in there. I don't even actually know what this song is about, because every time I listen to it, it just sounds so much like E and R. I had it on repeat while I wrote this. Also, you might have noticed the reference to 'The Fault In Our Stars' by John Green. Seems fitting that "shut up" would be their "always".


	11. The One Where Marius Gains A Clone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras takes painkillers, Cosette is very important yet nowhere to be seen, Eponine has a big problem, and Marius is asleep basically the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to skip ahead a bit, so I did. Take that, society. I do what I want.  
> Also, I apologize in advance because this chapter ends in an awkward place, but I just wanted to get this chapter out and that was the best place. More to come, as always, of course.

_Seven Months Post-Chapter Ten_  


“ _This_ is why nobody trusts you on your own, and _this_ is _precisely_ why we have to go with you everywhere,” Grantaire was saying. Enjolras was barely paying attention; most of his focus was on his arm, which he was keeping cradled close to his chest. “ _This_ is why we have shifts for you. Now you’re going to need a cast, and that’s your dominant hand, you shithead.”  


“You can write for me.” Enjolras was trying to joke, but his teeth were clenched and his words held no humor. Grantaire glanced over at him worriedly before turning his attention back to the road and increasing his speed a bit. “The protest got a little unnecessarily violent.”  


“I feel like that was a little your fault, since you kind of started it,” Grantaire reminded him, grinning. His cell phone started ringing; he fumbled for it and passed it to Enjolras’ good hand. “No talking on the phone and driving. Answer. Try not to cry.”  


Enjolras scowled at him, but he answered the phone nonetheless. “Hello?” Enjolras’ brow furrowed at the voice on the other line; he turned to look at Grantaire with confused blue eyes before he smiled, and Grantaire wanted to smile in return, just because the expression was so rare. “We’re on our way. Yeah, no problem.” Enjolras shut the flip phone, passing it back to Grantaire.  


“Who was that?” Grantaire asked curiously, chancing another look at the paradoxical expression on  Enjolras’ face.  


“Marius. Cosette’s in labor.” Enjolras shifted in his seat and hissed through his teeth when the movement jostled his arm. “Same hospital we’re going to.”  


“Oh, that’s exciting!” Grantaire exclaimed, grinning widely. He pointed out the hospital as it came into sight. “Alright, we’re here. Don’t- stop touching the door handle, I’ll get it for you."

* * *

When Enjolras opened his eyes, he was met with the impossibly white ceiling of a hospital room. The sterile expanse swam before his eyes; he blinked and turned his head, and was there met with the sight of Grantaire and Eponine sitting in one chair beside him.  


“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. Eponine stood up and pat his hand.  


“I’m worried about you. If you die, Grantaire’s got to raise my kid all by himself, and he’d suck at that. God knows I won’t be any help.” Eponine offered a smile to Enjolras, who just raised an eyebrow at her.  


“Ignore her,” Grantaire instructed from his seat. He leaned back, now that Eponine’s added weight was not in his lap, and observed Enjolras casually. “How you feeling? They gave you a shitload of painkillers.”  


“That would explain why the room’s swirling together,” Enjolras grumbled, blinking furiously in an attempt to right his vision. Grantaire finally pulled himself from the seat and helped Enjolras to sit up.  


“You broke your arm in two places, hence the cast,” Grantaire informed him as he tried to move Enjolras without jostling his arm. Enjolras was little to no help; the proximity of Grantaire’s face overwhelmed him in this state. Grantaire looked at his face in surprise when he felt the eyes on him. “Enjolras.”  


“Yes?” Enjolras replied quietly. Grantaire lifted Enjolras’ broken arm up to his face, and the cast now consumed all of his attention, which was currently not very difficult to do. “It’s lovely.”  


“You’ve been out for a while. I got bored.” Grantaire shrugged and let Enjolras hold his arm up for himself. The blond observed the red, white, and blue painted skillfully onto his cast.  


“You wouldn’t be bored if you went to visit Cosette with me,” Eponine muttered, and Enjolras suddenly remembered that she was there.  


“Eponine! How are you?” Enjolras asked enthusiastically. Eponine and Grantaire exchanged a look that Enjolras chose to ignore.  


“I’m... fine, thanks,” Eponine answered hesitantly.  


“Besides the whole, you know, M-” Enjolras began, but Grantaire slammed a hand down over his mouth. Enjolras made an indignant noise and bit Grantaire’s palm; Grantaire did not remove his hand.  


“He was going to say Montparnasse, and how he knocked you up, you know. A less-than-too-sensitive topic.” Grantaire frowned aggressively at Enjolras before looking back up at Eponine. “Please forgive him.”  


Eponine pointed a finger at Enjolras. “You’re a moron. I’m fine. I’ve had to deal with the fact that Marius is having a kid for a while now.”  


“Right, the kid,” Enjolras said, once the hand over his mouth had reluctantly vanished. “Boy or girl?”  


“Boy. His name’s Alphonse,” Eponine informed him, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed.  


“I thought Marius wanted to name him Francis?” Enjolras asked, visibly confused. Grantaire blamed it on the painkillers as he pulled Enjolras’ long, messy hair out from behind Enjolras’ back and started trying to brush the knots out of it.  


“Like Cosette would’ve let that name fly,” Eponine snorted. “I swear, if you try to give this kid some moronic name-”  


“Hey, you said that once it’s out of you, we have full rights. We can name the kid Patria, and you can’t stop us,” Grantaire laughed. Enjolras looked up at him with bright eyes; Grantaire shook his head. “No, we’re not naming her Patria.”  


“Fuck you,” Enjolras muttered. Eponine started laughing uncontrollably, throwing herself across Enjolras’ legs on the bed.  


“If this is what you’re like drunk, Enjolras, remind me to try more often,” Eponine forced out between laughs. Grantaire chuckled to himself and continued brushing out Enjolras’ hair for him. Once satisfied that it was free of knots, he swiftly tied it into a braid, snapping one of the elastic bands he always had around his wrists onto the bottom of the braid. Enjolras laid back against the bed and reached up to grab at Grantaire’s face.  


“Anyways, more about the kid,” Grantaire managed to get out, moving Enjolras’ good hand back down. Eponine sat back up.  


“Right. Well, he’s got a lot of this dark red hair. Like, a lot. He’s got a shitload of freckles, too. He looks almost exactly like Marius,” Eponine informed him. “He’s perfectly healthy and all that. Don’t worry about him.”  


“I want to see him,” Enjolras insisted. He looked up at Grantaire again. “Can we go see him?”  


“Sure, sure. I want to see him, too.” Grantaire moved to gather Enjolras’ clothes for him; the blond frowned.  


“Why didn’t you go see him before, if Eponine did?” Enjolras asked, his brow furrowed.  


“He’s stupidly noble and didn’t want to leave you alone,” Eponine informed him, her tone plainly teasing. Grantaire shot her a dirty look nonetheless.  


“Somebody had to stay here with him,” Grantaire shot back. He finally located Enjolras’ clothes; Eponine helped Enjolras move into standing up, clumsy as he was with only one functioning arm. Eponine turned her back as Grantaire pulled the hospital bed clothes off and began dressing Enjolras in his own clothes. As Grantaire tugged on Enjolras’ bright red shirt, Enjolras felt the sudden urge to kiss Grantaire. Free of inhibitions as the painkillers made him, he did as he pleased, leaning in and kissing Grantaire, though his shirt was only partially on him. He ran his good hand over Grantaire’s arm and down his side to his hip. Grantaire moaned quietly before pulling back.  


“Stop whatever it is you’re doing,” Eponine ordered from the corner of the room, her back still turned. “I really don’t want to be here if this continues.”  


“It won’t continue,” Grantaire assured her, continuing to pull Enjolras’ clothes onto him. Enjolras kept reaching out, touching Grantaire; the artist kept trying to pull back. “Damn it, Enjolras. Keep your hands to yourself for two seconds.”  


“Bet you never thought you’d have to tell him that,” Eponine laughed from the corner. Grantaire threw a pillow at her before crouching down to tie Enjolras’ shoes. Once he was finished, he stood straight up again, adjusting the collar on Enjolras’ shirt. Once he deemed the blond presentable, he leaned in and kissed his cheek. Enjolras let his head fall forward onto Grantaire’s shoulder.  


“Do you want to go see Al right now?” Grantaire asked, helping Enjolras to stand up straight. Enjolras nodded eagerly, his arm still pressed against his chest in his sling. He smiled at Grantaire, and the artist smiled back, thrilled to have gotten two of Enjolras’ rare smiles out of him in as many days. “Then we’ll go see him.”  


“And Marius and Cosette?” Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand with his good hand and let himself be led from his own room; Eponine followed behind quietly.  


“Yes, and Marius, and Cosette, and everyone else. They’re all here, somewhere,” Grantaire assured him, squeezing his hand.  


“They’re probably still looking at all the babies in the nursery,” Eponine suggested. Grantaire nodded.  


“‘Ponine’s right, they probably are,” Grantaire agreed, leading Enjolras up a flight of stairs. “Here we are, see? Maternity ward.”  


“This place is terrifying,” Eponine grumbled. Grantaire turned his head to smirk at her.  


“Should’ve thought of that before, shouldn’t you?” Grantaire teased. Eponine kicked his calf. “Look, there’s the guys. Go ahead.”  


Enjolras released Grantaire’s hand and sped up to the group of people hanging around in front of the windows that looked into the nursery. He was greeted with many pats on the back and wide grins, most of which he returned, much to the group’s evident surprise. Grantaire caught up, his steps more casual than Enjolras’ his hands in his pockets. Eponine ducked into Cosette’s room.  


“What’s with him?” Courfeyrac asked. “Spring fever?”  


"Painkillers," Grantaire informed them all.

“It’s a little late for spring fever anyways. Courfeyrac, it’s summer in two days,” Joly informed his friend from his place beside Musichetta, leaning against the window. Bossuet and Bahorel had left a moment earlier to retrieve coffee for Marius.  


“And then we’re going to be seniors, fuck yeah. Last year of school.” Courfeyrac smacked Joly on the back, earning a frown from the pre-med student, for whom it was not the last year of school.  


“Is Cosette going to stay in school?” Feuilly asked, making faces at the babies in the nursery. Grantaire pulled Enjolras over and pointed out Alphonse; Enjolras just grinned and rested his forehead against the glass of the window.  


“As far as I know, she is. She said she was going to work out a schedule with her father,” Grantaire informed them, though he did not turn to look at them, busy as he was watching Enjolras. Feuilly nodded and continued making his faces at the babies.  


Jehan stood up from the floor, allowing Courfeyrac to spin him around. He laughed like bells and let Courfeyrac kiss the ring on his hand. Marius yawned from his spot in the chair outside Cosette’s room and shifted in his sleep. Enjolras let his eyes close, and Combeferre pat him on the back. The content silence was broken when Gavroche came rocketing out of Cosette’s room and threw himself at Enjolras’ legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, a lot of things are mentioned in passing here. Let me explain this all to you.
> 
> Cosette and Marius do still live in the house; Enjolras gave up his office to be the nursery. Cosette and Jean Valjean have set up a schedule so that Cosette and Marius can still go to their last year of school.  
> Jehan and Courfeyrac are engaged.  
> Eponine is about five months pregnant (Montparnasse is the father, because I don't like him very much, interesting as he is), and she didn't want to keep it, so Grantaire offered to raise it. Enjolras kind of got roped in by default, but he's secretly excited. Enjolras and Grantaire are not engaged or married, because they want to wait and settle everything in first.  
> Combeferre and Eponine still secretly love each other, but Combeferre doesn't want to do anything while she's pregnant, and Eponine thinks Combeferre hates her.  
> Joly has decided to be a doctor instead of a nurse.  
> Marius and Cosette are engaged, but not married.  
> It is now the summer before their senior year of college (university). 
> 
> If anything still is not clear, just ask me and I'll clear it up. Also, if you want to hear a story that I skipped over in my seven-month time jump, just ask and I'll write it up for you.
> 
> Have a nice day!


	12. The One Where Eponine Has A Big Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eponine had sex three weeks ago, Grantaire's going to give up drinking, Enjolras just wants to get some sleep, and a Papasan chair is secretly the star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous user "And I'm JAVERT" commented on the last chapter and asked "I want to read what led to Eponine choosing to give Grantaire, of all people, her baby? What the hell happened there?" Here you go, Javert; a short story telling what happened. Hope this clears everything up for you.

_February 2013_  


Grantaire woke up to a persistent knocking on the door of his and Enjolras’ shared attic bedroom. Since the people who shared the home with him had a tendency of just coming in, Enjolras had begun locking the door. Tonight, whoever was on the other side of the door was angry about this. Grantaire lifted his head and squinted at the bright lights of his clock.  


“It’s 2 AM,” Grantaire groaned. Enjolras made a noise into Grantaire’s neck and tightened his grip on the artist. The knocking then became pounding; Enjolras released Grantaire and shoved at him.  


“Go stop them,” Enjolras mumbled into his pillow. Grantaire flicked Enjolras’ temple, picked up his pajama pants off the floor, and tugged them on as he went to unlock and open his bedroom door. He suddenly had an armful of a sobbing Eponine.  


“Whoah, whoah, calm down, sweetheart.” Grantaire struggled to keep his voice low and soothing, despite his surprise. He turned slightly; Enjolras had, somehow, remained asleep. Grantaire rolled his eyes and shut the bedroom door before leading Eponine to the overstuffed Papasan chair in the corner. He settled in and let Eponine curl around him and shift until she was comfortable. “What’s wrong?”  


Eponine did not speak, though it did not seem to be for lack of trying; her breathing was heavy and fast, and her words were choked off by tears. She buried her face in Grantaire’s neck, and he just wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair until she quieted down.  


“Are you okay?” Grantaire asked when she was finally quiet. She hiccupped and shook her head. “What’s wrong? What can I do?”  


“You can’t do anything,” Eponine said softly, her voice shaky and still on the verge of tears. “I had sex with Montparnasse.”  


“Oh, Eponine,” Grantaire sighed. He hesitated for a moment. “Wait, you were here tonight.”  


“I know. It was three weeks ago,” Eponine informed him quietly. Grantaire thought for another moment.  


“So, what? You feel guilty?” Grantaire asked, confused. Eponine pushed her face further into his neck.  


“No. I’m pregnant,” Eponine confessed, her voice muffled by Grantaire’s skin. Grantaire’s hands froze in her hair. “I don’t know what to do.”  


“We’ll think of something, don’t worry,” Grantaire assured her, resuming his stroking of her hair. Eponine shook her head.  


“No, I... I think I know what I have to do.” Eponine sat up slightly and pushed a hand across her eyes. “I’ve got to get rid of it.”  


Grantaire was silent for a long moment. “Ep, you know I’m pro-choice, and this is your decision, but-”  


“This is my decision, Grantaire,” Eponine repeated firmly. Grantaire shook his head and make a split-second choice.  


“I’ll adopt it,” Grantaire blurted out. Eponine sat up fully and stared at him disbelievingly. “I’m serious, Ep. I’ll do that. And you can see it whenever you want, and you’ll know that the kid will have a good home.”  


“You’re drunk about 90% of the time,” Eponine reminded him.  


“I’ll quit.”  


“You’ve got school.”  


“I’ve got a year left, and we’ve got a house full of people to help while I’m at class.” Grantaire brushed Eponine’s hair out of her face. “Do you want me to do this?”  


“I’d rather that than anything else,” Eponine admitted softly. She dropped her eyes to her hands for a moment. Grantaire kept pushing her hair out of her face, stroking it and pushing it behind her ears. She raised her gaze sharply after a couple of minutes, her eyes wide. “What about Enjolras?”  


“Shit.” Grantaire raised his head slightly from the cushion of the chair and watched Enjolras asleep in their bed for a moment. “We haven’t been dating anywhere near long enough to discuss having kids, Eponine.”  


“This is your decision,” Eponine murmured to him. Grantaire ran a hand through his short hair.  


“He’s a big part of making the decision,” Grantaire replied. He watched Enjolras for a moment longer before he shut his eyes. “I want to do this.”  


“I can’t do this,” Eponine whispered, tucking herself around Grantaire. Grantaire kissed her forehead and helped her stand up so that he could get out of the chair. Eponine curled back into the warm space Grantaire left behind and watched him move over to his bed. He reached out and grasped Enjolras by the shoulder. The blond rolled onto his back and frowned at Grantaire without opening his eyes.  


“What’s wrong? Who was at the door?” Enjolras asked, his voice thick and groggy. Grantaire grasped Enjolras’ forearm and pulled him into a sitting position.  


“Eponine. She’s got a problem we can help her with,” Grantaire answered quietly. Enjolras finally opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at him before spying Eponine sitting in the Papasan chair in the corner.  


“Well, of course, we’ll do what we can,” Enjolras assured her. Eponine bit at her lip and sat up in the chair, crossing her legs under her. “What’s the problem?”  


“I’m pregnant,” Eponine answered immediately. Enjolras remained absolutely still and suspiciously silent for a moment before returning his attention to Grantaire.  


“And what can we do to help her with this, exactly?” Enjolras asked in a low voice. Grantaire ran a hand through his hair again nervously.  


“I want to adopt the kid,” Grantaire answered finally. Enjolras clenched his jaw.  


“Grantaire-”  


“No, listen to me,” Grantaire interrupted. Enjolras crossed his arms, the blanket bunching around his waist, leaving his chest bare. “I’ve always wanted kids, Enjolras. How many chances is someone like me going to get?”  


"What do you mean, 'someone like you'?" Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire shook his head and looked down.

"I mean a fuck-up, Enjolras. I don't really get second chances," Grantaire answered quietly. Enjolras scrubbed a hand across his face.

“We’ve still got to finish school,” Enjolras insisted, leaving the discussion on Grantaire's self-appointed status as a fuck-up to be held later. Grantaire focused on his hands, rather than on Enjolras' face.  


“We’ve got a house full of people who can watch the kid while I’m at class. I’m not exactly a stellar student anyways. And, this way, Ep could still see the kid, and... It’s a win-win, Enjolras.” Grantaire took a deep breath. “I’m not asking for your permission to do this. I’m asking for you to not leave me.”  


“I’m not going to leave you,” Enjolras assured Grantaire immediately. Grantaire sat down on the edge of the bed and played with Enjolras’ fingers absently. Eponine remained quiet from her seat in the Papasan chair. “Can you really handle this? You’ll have to stop drinking.”  


“This gives me incentive.” Grantaire dropped Enjolras’ hand and met his eyes. “Enjolras. Please.”  


Enjolras held Grantaire’s gaze for a moment before he nodded once. “Yes, fine. I can... Yes, I’ll do this with you.”  


Grantaire threw himself forward, pushing Enjolras down onto the bed and pinning him down by his wrists. Eponine clamped a hand over her eyes.  


“I’m still here!” Eponine exclaimed. Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras to swing Eponine in the air, kissing her all over her face all the while.  


“Neither of you are going to regret this,” Grantaire promised, letting Eponine get back on her feet. She frowned at him and rubbed at her eyes.  


“I already am,” Eponine grumbled good-naturedly. Enjolras made a face from the bed.  


“You’re not alone, Eponine,” Enjolras offered. Grantaire grinned widely at them both and let Eponine go back to her own room before he locked his own bedroom door and tackled Enjolras again.  


“Thank you,” Grantaire whispered into the hollow of Enjolras’ throat. He bit at the soft skin there and began kissing his way up Enjolras’ neck.  


“Are you sure you’re going to be able to do this?” Enjolras murmured, letting his eyes flutter shut. Grantaire bit at Enjolras’ neck and moved up to his mouth.  


“With you by my side, I can do anything,” Grantaire said against Enjolras’ lips before he bridged the distance between them and kissed him senseless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sorry about my love of Papasan chairs.  
> Nitpick editing.


	13. The One Where Combeferre Is Really Helpful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eponine gets moved around a lot, Combeferre is protective and caring, Montparnasse is not allowed near their house anymore, and Grantaire gets woken up at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kat asked me: "Do you think sometime you could do a filler thing with Eponine finding out that she's pregnant? Maybe with some Eponine/Combeferre thrown in?" I clarified, and I ascertained that she wanted an immediately prequel to chapter 12. Here you go, Kat! I hope this is what you wanted!

_February 2013_

Eponine let her cheek rest against the cool edge of the bathtub and shut her eyes tightly. The cold of the tub was a welcome contrast to the fire in her cheeks; it took a moment for the sound of footsteps leading to the bathroom door to enter through the haze in her mind. The sound of the door creaking open was strangely loud to her, however, and she could hear the barest intake of breath.

“Shit, Eponine.” Eponine vaguely recognized Combeferre’s voice. His hands were cold where they touched her face and hoisted her up against him. “Can you stay on your feet?”

Eponine let her head rest on his shoulder. “I feel like shit.”

There was a brief pause. “Alright,” Combeferre murmured before lifting her up into his arms. She pressed her head against his shoulder. “Have you been drinking?”

“No,” Eponine said softly. Combeferre, to his credit, believed her; Eponine was thankful.

“Are you sick?” Combeferre asked. His voice was gentle and soft. Eponine shrugged slightly and felt herself get put down.

“I must be.” Eponine moved her head against the pillow; it felt unfamiliar. “Where am I?”

“I put you in my bed. I didn’t want to wake up Gavroche, and Feuilly went out with Cosette and Grantaire earlier.” Eponine felt the bed dip with Combeferre’s weight as he sat down beside her. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Eponine forced her eyes open and blinked a couple of times before focusing on Combeferre’s face. His round, red glasses were perched on the edge of his nose, his sandy hair was a mess, and his expression was worried. He reached out and stroked her hair away from her face.

“Do you want me to go wake up Joly?” Combeferre asked quietly, continuing to stroke her hair. Eponine moved her head closer into his hand.

“No, don’t go. I feel better,” Eponine murmured tiredly. Combeferre leaned over slightly, hesitated, then continued down to kiss Eponine’s forehead. Eponine reached up and ran her fingers along Combeferre’s jawline.

“Are you sure?” Combeferre’s voice had gone lower, keeping the words trapped between the two of them. Eponine nodded against his hand and his head. He let their foreheads fall together.

“I’m sorry,” Eponine whispered. Combeferre frowned and shifted.

“For what?” Combeferre said back in hushed tones. Eponine shook her head.

“I love you.” Eponine closed the distance between their lips and kissed him desperately. Combeferre kissed her back for a moment before making a disgruntled noise and pulling back.

“What’s wrong, Eponine?” Combeferre asked, his voice serious now. He examined Eponine’s face, his glasses sliding down to the very end of his nose.

“I think I made a mistake,” Eponine confessed softly, uncharacteristic tears coming to her eyes before she could stop them. Combeferre kissed her forehead again and sat back.

“What do you need me to do?” Combeferre offered immediately. Eponine let him take her hand, and she took a deep breath.

* * *

“How much longer?” Eponine asked, rubbing at her eyes. Combeferre looked at his watch.

“Seventy seconds,” he informed her. Eponine sighed and pushed her hair back away from her face. Combeferre seemed to be avoiding her eyes.

“Are you angry with me?” Eponine’s voice shook on the question. Combeferre pushed his glasses up and kept his eyes on his watch.

“No, I’m not angry with you,” he murmured. She leaned back and glared at the pregnancy test on the living room table.

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Eponine offered. Combeferre just nodded. “I love you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Combeferre replied simply. Eponine paled and shut her mouth. They sat there in silence for the remaining minute until Combeferre dropped his wrist. “Time. You can look.”

Eponine inched forward and snatched the test off the coffee table. She held her breath and examined it before shutting her eyes. “Shit.”

Combeferre was there in an instant, maneuvering the test out of her hand and holding both of her hands in his. “It’s going to be okay. We won’t let him anywhere near you.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Eponine whispered, opening her eyes. Combeferre was knelt in front of her now.

“You don’t need to know right now. Right now, you’ll get some sleep, and we’ll talk to Joly tomorrow. Okay?” Combeferre stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. Eponine bit her lip.

“I’m so sorry, Combeferre,” Eponine managed to get out before starting to sob. Combeferre climbed onto the sofa beside her and pulled her into his lap.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s going to be alright,” Combeferre murmured into her hair. He kissed the crown of her head and stood, lifting her up. “You can sleep in my room with me tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” Eponine agreed softly. Combeferre carried her with ease to his empty room on the third floor. He placed her back in his bed and laid down beside her, ignoring the fact that she was in torn pajamas and he was still fully clothed, and fell asleep with her pressed against his side. Eponine lifted his arm off of her carefully, pulled his glasses off, and kissed his forehead. She left his glasses on the table beside his bed and made her way up to the door to Enjolras and Grantaire’s attic bedroom.

She knocked on the door once, but no answer came. She knocked again, and she heard someone say something inside in a low voice. She pushed away the tears that had suddenly started pouring down her face and began pounding on the door with the side of her fist. She could hear someone trip across the floor inside the room, and soon the door was open, revealing a disheveled-looking Grantaire. His hair was wild and his bright eyes were tired; he was just wearing a pair of Enjolras’ pajama pants, his chest bare. Eponine threw herself at him and started sobbing full force.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see something, just ask! I got your back, and I enjoy writing things for you guys, that you all want.


	14. The One Where Catullus Helps Jehan Get Laid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Courfeyrac's a ticking time bomb, Enjolras has been Courfeyrac's best friend the longest, Combeferre is still the better friend, and Jehan has a poem prepared for any given situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iAmSam commented on the last chapter and pleaded with me. "omfg please write jehan and courf getting engaged. please. pleaaaaase. xx" As per usual, I am here to do your bidding. I hope this is satisfactory. I even threw in some of Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre's best-friendship dynamic, just for shits and giggles.
> 
> By the way, this myth is a real myth (whether or not this queen actually cut off all her hair in an attempt to save her husband remains to be seen), and the quote is a portion of a real Greek poem by the poet Catullus about the myth.

_March 20th, 2013_

“I can’t do this,” Courfeyrac moaned into Combeferre’s lap. Enjolras rolled his eyes, but Combeferre, ever the warm-hearted friend, ran his fingers soothingly through Courfeyrac’s hair.

“You can do this. I have complete faith in you,” Combeferre assured him. Enjolras continued typing at his computer, apparently writing a blog post. His phone kept chiming, but he was ignoring it.

“He’s going to say no.” Courfeyrac shifted and squirmed around until his face was turned towards the ceiling. He frowned at Combeferre. “What do I do when he says no?”

“ _If_ he says no, you take him to the hospital, because he’s clearly hit his head,” Combeferre teased. Courfeyrac made a face and slammed his hands over his face.

“This is not the time for _jokes_ , ‘Ferre.” Courfeyrac scolded. Enjolras snorted; Combeferre raised his head to glare at the blond sitting at the desk in the office. Most of the room’s items had been packed into boxes in preparation for the office’s conversion into a nursery, and the boxes were stacked up all over the place.

“It’s always the time for jokes with you, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras defended. Courfeyrac sat up on the sofa and flipped Enjolras off.

“You don’t have to deal with this. You’re not going to try to propose to the most perfect man in the world in twenty minutes.” Courfeyrac fell back against the cushions of the sofa; Combeferre raised an eyebrow.

“Do or do not, there is no try,” Combeferre quoted. Courfeyrac smiled at him before turning to face Enjolras again. He motioned to Combeferre.

“ _This_ is a friend, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac pointed at Enjolras. “ _You_ are a terrible friend.”

“I’m not a terrible friend,” Enjolras insisted, finally pulling his hands away from his keyboard. He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve been your best friend longer than he has.”

“You always hold those three days over my head,” Combeferre sighed. “It was _preschool_ , Enjolras. Let it go.”

Enjolras held up his hands. “I’m just saying.”

“Can we focus back on my problem?” Courfeyrac asked loudly, his head falling to the side against the back of the sofa so that he could look at Combeferre. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

Enjolras got up and moved over to sit beside Courfeyrac on the sofa. He threw his arm around Courfeyrac’s shoulders and looked his friend in the eye. “You and Jehan are both ready. I promise you. You’re more ready than anyone else I’ve ever seen. Do you understand?”

Courfeyrac nodded quickly. Combeferre frowned at Enjolras; the blond looked past Courfeyrac to meet the eyes of his sandy-haired friend. Combeferre shook his head and made a slashing motion across his throat before mouthing _You’re scaring him_. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not good at this!” Enjolras threw his hands in the air and fell back against the sofa. Courfeyrac followed, and Combeferre after him, until the three of them were piled around one another and tangled together. “Alright, listen. Jehan’s definitely going to say yes. You came up with the best way to propose to him, both of you are ready to get married, and he loves you. There’s no way he’ll say no.”

“Thanks.” Courfeyrac nuzzled his face into Enjolras’ chest. The blond hummed.

“When do you have to go?” Combeferre asked suddenly. Courfeyrac grabbed Combeferre’s wrist and held it up to read his watch before flailing and throwing himself onto the floor.

“I’ve got to go now!” Courfeyrac leaned over and kissed Combeferre on the head, then Enjolras. “Thanks, I’ll call you, bye!”

Combeferre and Enjolras watched Courfeyrac trip out of the office; once he was out of sight, Combeferre leaned back down and let his head fall onto Enjolras’ shoulder.

“Don’t move, I’m tired,” Combeferre said, grinning. Enjolras rolled his eyes again, but he let his friend remain there.

* * *

Jehan stepped through the back door of his classroom at 9:00 at night to find the end of a long piece of purple yarn outside the door, laying in the grass. He reached down and picked it up, and in doing so discovered a folded note tied onto it, his name written on the front in Courfeyrac’s messy scrawl. Smiling, he pulled the note free and read the message scribbled inside in ink in his current favorite color, grass green.

Jehan grinned wider and started gathering the yarn, following it along the grass. He paused to tuck the note into his back pocket before continuing on. He did not see an end to this yarn, and he almost wanted to laugh; this just had Courfeyrac’s name written all over it. He had passed across the grounds of the school, down the sidewalk, and into the park down the road, until he had an armful of yarn. He could see, ahead of him, a patch of trees lit by lanterns, and he wondered who was over there. He was startled to discover that the purple yarn was leading him right to it. He laughed and covered his mouth when he got to the end of the yarn at the edge of the square of brightly-lit trees. Courfeyrac was sitting on the grass in the middle, grinning widely at him.

“What’s all this?” Jehan asked suspiciously, leaving the pile of yarn at the edge of the trees. Courfeyrac held his hand out without standing; Jehan took the necessary steps forward and took his hand. Courfeyrac tugged him down so that the poet went sprawling across his tall boyfriend. Jehan laughed and propped himself up on his elbows. Courfeyrac shifted Jehan until the poet’s sharp elbows were digging into his stomach, rather than his ribs.

“Just doing something special for you. Because I love you.” Courfeyrac smiled up at Jehan. The poet leaned down and kissed Courfeyrac deeply, his braid swinging down into their faces. Courfeyrac responded with equal enthusiasm, letting them move together as they so often did. They knew each other’s bodies well, perhaps better than they knew their own. They knew where to touch each other, how to move, what to do to give their partner the greatest amount of pleasure. Jehan made a soft noise into Courfeyrac’s mouth, which spurred the Psych major into pulling away. Jehan frowned at him.

“Why’d you stop?” Jehan bit at his lip and went to reconnect them, but Courfeyrac flipped him over, changing their positions so quickly that Jehan barely had time to blink. The poet grinned at him before shoving upwards so that Courfeyrac was sitting backwards and Jehan was seated deeply in his lap, their chests pressed flush against each other’s. Courfeyrac reached up and pulled the grass-green ribbon out of the bottom of Jehan’s braid, letting all of his boyfriend’s long curls of hair come flowing down his back like water. He ran his hands through it quietly for a moment before looking up into Jehan’s eyes.

“I love you so much,” Courfeyrac whispered. Jehan’s brow furrowed.

“That’s not a reason to stop.” Jehan ran his fingertips softly along Courfeyrac’s cheek and down his jawline. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I am absolutely fine,” Courfeyrac assured him, turning his head to the side slightly to kiss Jehan’s palm. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Jehan bent his head down and began to kiss Courfeyrac again. Courfeyrac made a disgruntled noise and pulled back once more. “Okay, what did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” Courfeyrac insisted. He let his hands come to rest on Jehan’s hips for a moment before he hauled him off. “Alright. Alright, lay down in the grass.”

Jehan raised an eyebrow, but his lips turned up into a smile and he did as he was asked. He laid down in the grass, watching the lanterns with delight at their poetic beauty for a brief moment until Courfeyrac reached the small outlet generator he had brought and unplugged the lights. Jehan was left blinking away the spots blacked out of his vision by the lights as Courfeyrac came to lay down by his side. The Psych major pointed up at the sky.

“That’s Coma Berenices, right there,” Courfeyrac told Jehan softly, once the poet’s vision cleared and the millions of stars came into view. “It’s Berenice’s Hair. The story goes that Queen Berenice II of Egypt promised her beautiful, long, blonde hair to the goddess of love, Aphrodite, if the goddess would keep her husband safe in the war. Berenice was extremely proud of her hair, but she cut it all off anyways and gave it to the goddess. Aphrodite was so impressed that she placed the hair in the stars, right there.”

Jehan was silent for a moment. “There’s a poem about that. A really, really old one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jehan reached down and grasped Courfeyrac’s hand in his own. “‘He who gazed at all the lights in the vast heavens, who learnt the rise and setting of the stars, how the fiery beauty of the swift sun’s darkened, how constellations vanish at fixed times, how sweet love entices Diana...’” Jehan trailed off when Courfeyrac released his hand. “What is it?”

“That’s a beautiful poem,” Courfeyrac murmured, pressing a kiss to Jehan’s cheek before getting up. “I’ve just got to grab something, give me a sec. Keep looking at the sky.”

Jehan made a face, but he obeyed anyways. He turned his head to the side slightly to look at the stars over that way. He heard a rustling on his other side, and could feel Courfeyrac’s presence beside him. He turned his head to make a comment, but the words died in his throat when he found Courfeyrac on one knee beside him, holding a ring between his thumb and his forefinger; he held it out to Jehan.

“Oh, Courfeyrac,” Jehan sighed, knelt up, and pushed his hair behind his ear. Courfeyrac shut his eyes and took a deep breath; Jehan reached out and laid his hand along the right side of Courfeyrac’s jaw. Courfeyrac’s eyes opened again.

“Jehan Prouvaire, I-”

“Yes,” Jehan breathed. Courfeyrac frowned slightly.

“I had a whole speech prepared-” Courfeyrac began, but Jehan interrupted him yet again.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jehan took Courfeyrac’s face between his hands. “I love you so much. Ask me to marry you.”

“Marry me?” Courfeyrac asked softly. Jehan grinned.

“Yes,” Jehan repeated. Courfeyrac took Jehan’s hand from his face and slid the ring onto his finger before Jehan tackled him back onto the ground. “Courf, I love you so, so much.”

“I love you, too. You're my spring flower,” Courfeyrac murmured against Jehan’s lips as the slim, strong poet crushed them together.

"Oh, today is the first day of spring, isn't it?" Jehan grinned at Courfeyrac as he spoke, pulling back an inch before tugging them back together. "You're the greatest. You know how I love spring."

“Oh, my God, Jehan, I love you so much,” Courfeyrac exclaimed, his head falling back against the grass. Jehan followed, keeping their lips together.

Jehan made a noise into Courfeyrac’s mouth before lifting his head. “We’ve got to go home.”

“I brought a tent,” Courfeyrac informed him breathlessly. Jehan grinned wolfishly.

“Set it up,” Jehan instructed into Courfeyrac’s ear. The poet climbed off of him as his fiancee scrambled up to set up their tent. Once it was up and ready, Courfeyrac all but dragged Jehan into it. Jehan zipped up the front flap and straddled Courfeyrac’s hips. The Psych major ran his hands reverently down his poet’s sides before they began stripping each other enthusiastically.

Combeferre and Enjolras came to the park the next morning to pull down the lantern strings and drag Courfeyrac and Jehan home before the police found them in the daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my third prompt chapter, and I'm enjoying myself. If you've got a request, keep 'em coming.  
> I'll nitpick edit as I go.  
> In case you can't read it, the letter says:  
> "Dearest Jehan -  
> Roses are red,  
> Violets are blue,  
> Follow my yarn (ha),  
> Because I have a surprise for you.  
> Love,  
> Your secret admirer"


	15. The One Where Catullus Helps Jehan Get Laid, From His Point Of View (Jehan's, Not Catullus')

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Feuilly is disgruntled by girls, Grantaire is definitely has ulterior motives, Jehan is a very adorable, very nervous predator, and Courfeyrac pulls out all the stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what just happened here.
> 
> An anonymous user, who goes by the username "do not forget my naaaaaaaame do not forget me", commented on the last chapter and left a beautiful comment. I was very, very happy with it. 
> 
> I just realized that she requested "i, being of sound mind and body, hereby do request jehan's POV of chapter 5 okie dokes." I just rewrote the entire last chapter in Jehan's POV because I misread the request. I am literally just realizing this as I write this note, and I am very angry with myself.
> 
> Do Not Forget Me, I apologize to you. Take this for now, you and all my other readers, and I will get Chapter 5 in Jehan's POV to you as soon as I can. Again, I apologize.
> 
> Enjoy this anyways! I feel so bad.

_March 20th, 2013_

Jehan had grown bored hanging around at home, and had decided - upon Feuilly and Grantaire’s enthusiastic insistence - to accompany them to their night Representational Painting class. He was now sat between them in the very first row in the circle of artists at their easels, trying - in vain - to paint the model stood before them. The professor was wandering around, weaving in and out of the students on their stools, ignoring the fact that there were a couple of students who clearly did not belong in the class (namely Jehan).

A glance over at Feuilly confirmed that he was intently focused on trying to make his painting as realistic as possible. He looked at his own attempt, and frowned at the mess of poorly-shaded shapes on his canvas. He peered at Grantaire’s canvas to discover that the work was already finished, a perfect, nearly exact replica of the woman stood before them; the only difference between the painting and the girl, in manners of appearance, was that the model had short, pin-straight black hair, and the painting of the girl had long curls of blonde hair. The girl in the painting had an almost ethereal quality to her that added something more, something that the model herself was missing. Jehan felt as though Grantaire’s painting was more beautiful than the girl. The artist in question had signed a flourishing R in the corner of the painting, and was currently sitting cross-legged on his stool. He had his phone held in both of his hands, and he was texting furiously, sending text after text to who, Jehan did not know.

“Why did you insist on bringing me here?” Jehan hissed at Grantaire. The dark-haired artist - who had begun to let his hair grow out again, and the characteristic curls were beginning to show again - dropped his feet down onto the floor and locked his phone before turning to Jehan.

“Because I thought you might enjoy it,” Grantaire explained with a wide grin. Jehan guessed that the artist was at least halfway to drunk. “Look at what you’ve painted. It’s... charming.”

“It’s horrible,” Jehan sighed, glaring at the offending painting sat before him.

“It’s not horrible. All artwork is a reflection of the artist.” Grantaire leaned forward, bracing his arms against his thighs as he examined Jehan’s attempt at a painting. “Your art reflects in you... an eccentric personality, a tendency towards brightness, and an intelligence you don’t seem to recognize in yourself.”

Jehan cocked his head and squinted at his painting. “You see all that? In this?”

“I do,” Grantaire assured the poet, nodding. “I see a love, deep inside you, that you need to let out.”

“Jehan lets out more than enough love,” Feuilly laughed. The student behind him shushed him; Feuilly turned around and flipped her off. The professor ignored them.

“This is different.” Grantaire handed Jehan his pallet. “Try it with green.”

Jehan took Grantaire’s pallet from him and grabbed a clean brush. He eyed the various shades of green before choosing a grassy variant and using it to add broad strokes of bright shadow behind the woman. Grantaire grinned at the art.

“It’s perfect now.” Grantaire stole his pallet back and sat up straight again. “What do you think? Do you think it’s finished?”

Jehan examined the painting for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yeah... Yeah, I think it’s done.”

“Cool. Then it’s done.” Grantaire pointed at the bottom right-hand corner of the painting. “Sign there, and you can take it home, since you don’t actually need it for this class.”

“I’ll take it home for you,” Feuilly offered immediately. Jehan turned to him and raised an eyebrow suspiciously; Grantaire sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Why? Where am I going?” Jehan demanded. Feuilly panicked and looked over Jehan’s head to meet Grantaire’s eyes. Jehan automatically spun back around on his stool to glare at Grantaire. “Grantaire. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on!” Grantaire exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. Feuilly looked expectantly at the girl behind him, but she was just gazing dreamily at Grantaire. Come to think of it, most of the girls around them were gazing dreamily at Grantaire. Feuilly threw his brush down in exasperation. “Gol _ly_ , can’t we just hang out with you without being suspected of having ulterior motives?”

“No,” Jehan answered, narrowing his eyes. “Tell me.”

“Nothing to tell,” Grantaire replied simply, pulling his phone back out and sending a few rapid texts, which he expected would continue to be ignored.

“Is everyone okay? Are you trying to cushion some horrible blow?” Jehan began playing nervously with the already-fraying edges of his oversized, light-green button-up.

“Everyone’s okay, everything’s okay, calm down.” Grantaire reached out and pulled Jehan’s hands apart, separating them from the sleeves and from each other. “Calm down. Okay?”

“Okay. But I still think you’re up to something,” Jehan insisted. Grantaire just squeezed his hands and laughed; at least three of the girls around them sighed blissfully. Feuilly growled at them.

“Who, me? I’m never up to anything,” Grantaire assured him, his voice smooth like honey. Jehan instinctively distrusted it. The professor banged a gong in the corner of the room and dismissed the class. Grantaire rolled his eyes and began packing up his painting and supplies.

“What do I do now?” Jehan asked, trying to follow Grantaire’s movements. Feuilly waved him off.

“I’ll clean up for you. It’ll go quicker, since I have to do this all the time.” Feuilly made a small jerking motion in Grantaire’s direction with his chin; Jehan hopped off of his stool and glared at the both of them. “Go out the back door, Jehan. We’ll meet you there in a second.”

“But everyone’s going out that door,” Jehan argued, pointing towards the door which they had entered through at the beginning of the class. Feuilly shook his head.

“We don’t like leaving with all the normals. Hence, back door.” Feuilly pushed at Jehan’s back, nudging him forward a couple of steps. “Go on, we’ll be right there.”

Jehan raised an eyebrow at him before turning to look at Grantaire. The poet nodded in agreement, so Jehan just threw his hands up in the air, slipped his sneakers back on over his bright polka-dot socks and the ends of his horrendously floral pants, the cuffs of which were pulled down over his heel.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Jehan sighed, finally caving in. Feuilly snatched Jehan’s satchel before the poet could and threw it across his chest. Jehan made a face at him.

“...I like the smell,” Feuilly offered weakly. Jehan threw his hands in the air.

“You guys are morons, and you’re terrible liars.” Jehan waved at them. “I’m leaving anyways. I’ll see you... whenever. I feel like you’re plotting to have me kidnapped as soon as I walk out that door.”

“Of course not!” Grantaire assured him enthusiastically, shoving Jehan towards the door. “Not in the traditional sense, anyways.”

Feuilly snorted. Jehan made another face at the both of them before leaving, letting the back door slam shut behind him. He bent down to fix the top of his sneaker, and, in doing so, discovered the end of a seemingly very long piece of thick violet yarn lying in the grass before him. He picked it up, his brow furrowed in confusion, and discovered a letter attached to the end. He unfolded the letter and read it through carefully once, then twice, delighted to find Courfeyrac’s messy scrawl on the notepaper in Jehan’s favorite color.

The words in the message made Jehan’s heart skip once, stutter, then pick up pace. He folded the note back together gingerly, tucked it into the back pocket of his flower jeggings, and began following the trail set by the yarn. He gathered the yards in his arms as he went, looping it around and around, from his shoulders down to his wrists. He tried not to run, and ended up half-skipping, ignoring the people around him who watched his odd passage past them. He made his way across the campus grounds in the dark, in the wet grass; the yarn then led down the sidewalk, weaving around mailboxes and telephone poles. Jehan wanted to laugh and cry all at once with nerves; he had no idea what was happening, but if Courfeyrac had set all this up, then _something_ had to be happening.

The yarn on the sidewalk led across the street - Jehan stumbled and hurried to gather it all before he got hit by a car - and into the park across the way. He was tangled in the yarn by now, his arms full of it, the purple wrapped around him like tendrils of ivy. He caught sight of a grouping of trees ahead with a series of electric lanterns hung in them. He forced himself to think it was not Courfeyrac, but he knew it was; the fact was only confirmed when he discovered that the yarn was heading in the direction of the trees. Each step increased the speed of his heart; he found it increasingly more and more difficult not to trip over his own two feet. He finally reached the edge of the square of trees and discovered Courfeyrac lounging lazily in the middle of it. Unable to contain his emotion inside of himself any longer, he let a laugh bubble up and escape; it sounded hysterical to his ears, and he covered his mouth with his hands, letting the armful of yarn fall to the ground. He disentangled himself from the yards of yarn and stepped away from it, towards Courfeyrac.

“What’s all this?” Jehan asked, trying to keep his voice innocent and carefully suspicious. It seemed to work on Courfeyrac, who just held his hand out silently towards the poet. Jehan stepped forward, keeping his steps less jerky than they had been, and took the hand offered to him. Courfeyrac, unsurprisingly, tugged sharply at his hand, throwing him across Courfeyrac’s chest and forcing them both down onto the ground, tangled together. Jehan laughed anxiously and propped himself up against Courfeyrac’s chest; Courfeyrac shifted, shuffling Jehan’s elbows around until he was comfortable. The smile on Courfeyrac’s face was blinding.

“Just doing something special for you.” Courfeyrac’s smile widened. “Because I love you.”

Jehan did not hesitate before dropping his head down to kiss Courfeyrac’s smile deeply, forcing it off his face and into Jehan’s lips. Courfeyrac responded eagerly, his hands coming up to scrabble against Jehan’s back. He tugged at the giant shirt Jehan was still wearing, and the both of them ignored Jehan’s hair falling into their faces. They moved well together, Jehan knew; their bodies were often so in sync and rhythmic together that they did not even need to think about it anymore to know how to pleasure one another. Jehan could not hold back the soft groan that he let go into Courfeyrac’s mouth; it seemed to have the opposite of the desired effect, as Courfeyrac pulled his head back and laid it down in the grass again. Jehan felt his mouth twist into a frown.

“Why’d you stop?” Jehan asked softly, bending his head down to nip at Courfeyrac’s bottom lip before moving in to kiss him again, but Courfeyrac grabbed Jehan’s wrists and flipped their positions faster than Jehan could say boo. The poet blinked up at him from his new position on his back and thought quickly. Jehan felt a grin take over his face before he shoved at Courfeyrac with such force that Courfeyrac rocked into a sitting position, and Jehan fell into his lap, settling so deeply that their hips were aligned and their chests were warm against each other. Courfeyrac’s breath fanned pleasantly across Jehan’s face; he smelled like cinnamon and chocolate, as he so often did, and Jehan felt the urge to crawl under Courfeyrac’s skin and never leave him again.

Courfeyrac’s hands came up, fingering at Jehan’s hair gingerly before he pulled the bow out of the ribbon in his hair. The ribbon fell to the damp grass, and Courfeyrac used his fingers to untangle Jehan’s braid. Jehan could feel his curls of hair reach the middle of his back, but he could _really_ feel Courfeyrac’s hands pulling through them, and that was far more pleasing to his senses. He kept his gaze on Jehan’s shoulder for a brief moment before he raised his eyes to make eye contact with Jehan.

“I love you so much,” Courfeyrac promised suddenly, his voice a whisper. Jehan’s brow furrowed, and his heartbeat quickened again.

“That’s not a reason to stop.” Jehan reached up, his fingertips tingling, and he let the emotion flow through them as he ran them along Courfeyrac’s cheek. He continued down his jawline, feeling the soft skin and the scratch of stubble, and he wanted to kiss all the nervousness away from the both of them; he wondered why Courfeyrac was so uncharacteristically anxious. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I am absolutely fine.” Courfeyrac’s hands fell from Jehan’s hair to his waist. He turned his head slightly, halting Jehan’s hand and catching his palm in a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jehan replied softly, letting his head drop down. He kissed Courfeyrac again, trying to deepen it before Courfeyrac could pull away again. To his dismay, Courfeyrac _still_ pulled away, making a very disgruntled noise as he did so. Jehan wanted to growl in frustration; he knew that his nerves would be settled if he could just have Courfeyrac _now_. “Okay, what did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” Courfeyrac exclaimed; his voice was so insistent and reassuring that Jehan could not help but believe him. Courfeyrac’s hands edged down slightly from Jehan’s waist to settle on his hips for a moment. Jehan hoped that Courfeyrac would kiss him to assure him, but instead, the Psych major hauled him off of him. “Alright. Alright, lay down in the grass.”

Jehan raised an eyebrow at him, but he could feel himself smile as he obeyed, laying down in the dewy grass and letting his gaze drift to the lanterns. He was distracted by their poetic essence for the briefest of moments before Courfeyrac unplugged them from heaven-knows-where and returned to lay at Jehan’s side. Jehan blinked away the dark spots left behind the lights and focused on the stars in the sky. Courfeyrac raised his hand and pointed at a cluster of stars in the sky directly above them.

“That’s Coma Berenices, right there. It’s Berenice’s Hair.” Courfeyrac’s voice was like spun sugar, sweet in the air and beautiful to taste in his mind. Jehan hummed and let his eyes drift shut, preferring Courfeyrac’s voice and story over the stars in the sky. “The story goes that Queen Berenice II of Egypt promised her beautiful, long, blonde hair to the goddess of love, Aphrodite, if the goddess would keep her husband safe in the war. Berenice was extremely proud of her hair, but she cut it all off anyways and gave it to the goddess. Aphrodite was so impressed that she placed the hair in the stars, right there.” Jehan reopened his eyes at the end of the story and fought the urge to just take Courfeyrac right there, romantic evening be damned. He calmed himself down in silence for a moment before forcing himself to speak, to say anything other than pleas for Courfeyrac to get this over with.

“There’s a poem about that,” is what Jehan ended up saying. “A really, really old one.”

“Yeah?” Courfeyrac prompted, his voice warm. Jehan swallowed. He felt electric.

“Yeah.” Jehan allowed himself to grasp Courfeyrac’s hand in his; he felt complete, moreso than he ever has. He forced his way past it, struggling to remember the poem. “‘He who gazed at all the lights in the vast heavens, who learnt the rise and setting of the stars, how the fiery beauty of the swift sun’s darkened, how constellations vanished at fixed times, how sweet love entices Diana...’” Jehan let his poem trickle off when Courfeyrac dropped his hand. Jehan felt less than whole again. “What is it?”

“That’s a beautiful poem,” Courfeyrac commented in a low voice, kissing Jehan’s cheek, letting his lips linger for a moment before he pulled away and stood. “I’ve just got to grab something, give me a sec. Keep looking at the sky.”

Jehan frowned, his face creasing, but he did as he was asked nonetheless, turning his head in the opposite direction to observe the endless stretch of stars spread out before him, a world for the taking. He let it take him for a moment, let himself be lost in the forever of it, and he was, momentarily, other. Courfeyrac rustling back into position next to him drew him back into reality, and he turned his head back to comment on his fantastic emotions. Whatever he had intended to say immediately fell back into his vocal chords, into his lungs, when he laid eyes on Courfeyrac. His boyfriend was bent onto one knee beside him; his shoes were pulled off and left aside; the knee of his faded blue jeans was digging into the mud, probably getting stained; his soft, old Batman t-shirt was familiar and lovely. Jehan thought he had never looked more beautiful, and he was shocked into silence. Courfeyrac held the ring out to Jehan, and the poet was more intrigued by Courfeyrac’s hand than he was by the ring, for a moment. Then the ring caught his eye, sparkling like the stars above him, and he mentally shook himself.

“Oh, Courfeyrac,” Jehan breathed. He knelt up, his own floral jeggings pressing into the mud uncomfortably; he pushed stray locks of hair behind his right ear, getting it out of his face so it would stop falling into his face. Courfeyrac let his eyes fall shut, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Jehan reached out, his hand skimming Courfeyrac’s jaw before coming to rest there. Courfeyrac opened one eye, then the other, but he did not smile; he seemed to be shaking, just slightly. The ring was still held between his two fingers. Courfeyrac steadied himself and opened his mouth.

“Jehan Prouvaire,” Courfeyrac began. Jehan inhaled quietly. “I-”

“Yes,” Jehan whispered, unable to stop himself. Courfeyrac frowned at him, and Jehan almost regretted interrupting him. Almost.

“I had a whole speech prepared-” Courfeyrac started again, but Jehan shook his head and took Courfeyrac’s face between his hands.

“It doesn’t matter. I love you so much.” Jehan steeled himself and let his heart open more than he had ever allowed before, more than he ever thought he would again. He fell into Courfeyrac, body and soul. “Ask me to marry you.”

Courfeyrac’s gaze skimmed across Jehan’s face, settling on his lips for a moment before coming to rest on his eyes. “Marry me?”

Jehan grinned widely, his fingers tightening on Courfeyrac’s face. “Yes.” Courfeyrac relaxed, his shoulders falling, all the tension slipping out of him like soap under the spray of a shower. He caught Jehan’s hand in his, pulled it off his face, and slipped the ring onto it. Jehan bit his lip, hesitated, tried to restrain himself; he gave in almost immediately and tackled Courfeyrac to the ground. “Courf, I love you so, so much.”

“I love you, too.” Courfeyrac’s words were warm and beautiful against Jehan’s lips. Jehan pulled him impossibly closer, crushing them together, trying his best to fuse them into one being. “You’re my spring flower.”

“Oh, today is the first day of spring, isn’t it?” Jehan pulled back ever so slightly for a moment, smiling with delirious happiness at Courfeyrac. “You’re the greatest. You know how I love spring.”

Courfeyrac let his head fall back into the grass, his hair immediately dampening in the dew. “Oh my God, Jehan, I love you so much.”

Jehan followed Courfeyrac down, sealing their lips together again, making a noise that chased deep from his own chest even deeper into Courfeyrac’s; the sound seemed to settle in their bones. Jehan lifted his head.

“We’ve got to go home,” Jehan murmured urgently. Courfeyrac smiled slightly, and Jehan wondered if he had any idea how serious he was being, how much he _needed_ Courfeyrac, needed him _right now_.

“I brought a tent,” Courfeyrac whispered, breathless, gleeful. Jehan felt a predatory grin enter onto his face, and Courfeyrac jerked under him. It was something new, something fantastic, and Jehan thrilled at the way it sparked in his veins, bringing a shock to his heart.

Jehan dropped his lips to Courfeyrac’s ear and whispered “Set it up,” before he climbed off of Courfeyrac. He stood and toed off his sneakers, watching in vague amusement as Courfeyrac scrambled to set up the tent. It seemed as though he got it up in record time - no pun intended - and was dragging Jehan into it before the poet could take three breaths. Jehan zipped up the entrance of the tent behind them and forced Courfeyrac onto his back; he settled on his fiancee’s hips heavily, reaching down to grab at Courfeyrac’s wrists.

The Psych major beat him to it, running his hands down the poet’s sides before letting them come to rest on his hips. The look in his eyes was disbelieving, his touch reverent, and Jehan could no longer contain himself. He pulled at Courfeyrac’s shirt, tugging it over his head, and Courfeyrac did the same to him. The two of them were stripping each other even faster than Courfeyrac had set up the tent, and Jehan was more happy than he has ever been within seconds.

If Enjolras and Combeferre yelled at them the next morning about public indecency and how children go to that park, it did not really register in Jehan’s hazy state of mind. The only thing that registered was Courfeyrac’s hand in his, Courfeyrac’s lips on his, and Courfeyrac’s ring, which made him his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll nitpick edit as I go, but I stayed up way too late writing this and I need to go to sleep right now.
> 
> Again, I apologize. I feel wicked bad. I'll fix this tomorrow, I promise. I'll write you what you wanted, Do Not Forget Me, and I'll make it as good as this chapter, if not better. I feel like Chapter 5 from Jehan's POV will be horrifically depressing, so maybe it's best if you enjoy this chapter while you can.
> 
> If you have a prompt, or just something you want to say, leave it in the comments. You know the drill by now.


	16. The One Where It's Not Jehan's Fault, Either

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire is a savior, Jehan is a mess, Courfeyrac feels pretty bad, and some poetry gets abandoned on the lawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I actually filled the right request this time! Huzzah!
> 
> That request, of course, being "i, being of sound mind and body, hereby do request jehan's POV of chapter 5 okie dokes", courtesy of do not forget my naaaaaaaame do not forget me. As you all know, I fucked up last time, so I stayed up way too late (again - this is getting to be a problem) to write this replacement. I still feel bad, but I hope this makes up for it!
> 
> As an explanation to anyone who is confused, what you are about to read is Chapter 5 - "The One Where It's Not Courfeyrac's Fault" - from Jehan's point of view.

 

_Set During Chapter 5_

Jehan was sitting on the front lawn of their house, leaning against the old tree Enjolras so loved. He had a notebook and a pen held tightly in his hands. He was scribbling furiously, his legs bent and pulled up so that he could write against his thighs. The sun was warm against his skin, heating him up underneath his bright sweater and floral jeans. He was startled out of his intense focus by his phone ringing beside him; he grinned automatically at the sound of Courfeyrac’s customized ringtone, which Courfeyrac himself had chosen - “Sexy And I Know It”.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Jehan answered cheerily. He frowned when an unfamiliar voice came through on the other end.

“Is this Jean Prouvaire?” A high woman’s voice was speaking loudly through his tinny speakers; Jehan’s heart dropped down to his stomach.

“Yes,” Jehan said softly.

“You were listed as an In Case of Emergency number in the phone we located,” the woman explained. Jehan shoved his notebook off his lap and sat forward; his throat was thick, and he already felt like crying, even though he had no idea what was even wrong with Courfeyrac yet. “We regret to inform you that Mr. Courfeyrac was in a car accident this afternoon.”

Jehan’s hand flew to his mouth, and he tried to hold back his sobs so that he could respond to the woman. “Is he okay?”

The woman answered his unspoken question. “He’s alive, but he’s being taken to the hospital as we speak. I suggest that you come as soon as possible.”

Jehan waited, received directions, then thanked the woman before hanging up. He folded in half and pressed his head to his knees, trying to calm down enough to drive. He held back wavering breaths as best as he could before he grabbed his phone and began furiously texting Enjolras, hoping that he would tell everyone else. The poet had hit autopilot, pushing down the rush of panic and emotions that flooded his system so that he could focus long enough to get to the car, then to the hospital.

The whole car ride to the hospital in Bahorel’s beat-up old monstrosity of a truck was a blur, and, when people asked Jehan later how he was calm enough to reach the hospital, he would not have an answer for them. He reached the emergency room and was lead immediately to a few nurses who was involved with Courfeyrac. He was informed that Courfeyrac was not waking up and that the crash was not his fault, so he would not be held responsible. He also learned that the driver in the other car had died on the scene; the poet could not bring himself to be upset about that, for he was too angry at them for endangering Courfeyrac’s life like this. He let himself be led back to the emergency room, the nurses following around him, doting on him worriedly. They left him on the sofa in the emergency room, kissing him on the forehead and going back to their jobs.

Jehan curled up in the corner of the sofa, and everything about his position commanded that he be left alone. He texted Enjolras the new information and the directions to the hospital that he had received from the woman on the phone. He abandoned his phone beside him on the sofa then, wrapping his arms around his legs, trying to block the images of Courfeyrac in his mind. He shut his eyes tightly and pressed his forehead to his knees. He had no idea how long he was sat like that, as everything was moving in a haze around him, and, while seconds felt like hours, hours felt like mere seconds. He was snapped out of it by a red-haired nurse tapping him on the shoulder until he lifted his head.

“Are you Mr. Prouvaire?” the nurse asked him in a low, professional voice. Jehan nodded worriedly; the matronly nurse handed him a tissue package and took his hand. “We’re going to have to bring Mr. Courfeyrac into surgery. We’ve discovered a cervical fracture and a subdural hematoma.” The nurse handed him a pamphlet, which Jehan folded up and put into his lap, along with the tissue package; both were quickly forgotten. She explained quickly what this was, knowing the pamphlet would not be read; that a vein had torn, that there was a hemorrhage compressing Courfeyrac’s brain - his perfect, wonderful mind.

“Is he going to die?” Jehan finally asked softly. He had no idea if he interrupted the nurse, but he could not even bring himself to care.

“...We honestly don’t know. We’re positive that the surgery should help, but subdural hematomas have been fatal before. You must prepare for the worst.” The nurse paused. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

Jehan shook his head, his eyes focused on his knees. “Will you send a text for me? The conversation’s already up. Will you send him what you just told me?”

The nurse nodded, her eyes lingering on him worriedly before she sent the text from his phone, as he requested. She laid a hand on his messy head soothingly, then left him alone. Jehan allowed the sobs to come through, and he felt lost. He felt as if the entire world had faded to the sterile light-greyness of the emergency room, and his life had suddenly become insignificant. His entire mind was occupied by Courfeyrac; thoughts of him, fears for him, and fears for himself. He wondered what would become of him if he lost Courfeyrac. He was a very sensitive soul, and he knew that; he had no idea what this loss would do to him, and he was not so sure he wanted to find out. He had never felt a stronger or stranger sense of kinship with Grantaire than in that moment.

Speaking of the devil, Grantaire appeared just at that moment. Jehan did not notice his approach until the artist was murmuring low in his ear and pulling Jehan into his arms. Jehan felt slightly safe there, like nothing bad could penetrate through Grantaire to him, and he allowed himself to break down against Grantaire’s chest. He felt as though his throat was ripping apart with force of his sobs. His mind was rushing, thoughts passing through his mind too quickly to focus on any one individually; his hands were shaking; his heart was pounding; his stomach was aching. Grantaire was still speaking, Jehan noted vaguely.

“It’s okay, Jehan,” Grantaire was saying softly to him. Jehan shook his head.

“It’s not.” Jehan choked on the words as they, his breath, and his sobs tried to come out all at once. He swallowed air desperately and started coughing. He could feel pressure against his knees, but he could not find the strength to raise his head and seek out the source. Grantaire was situating him, moving him around so that his back was pressed flush to Grantaire’s chest. It was as though they were spooning there, sitting up on the sofa.

“I know, I know it’s not, but it’s going to be.” Grantaire’s voice was calming, even, and Jehan tried to grab onto it, anchoring himself there. He wished Courfeyrac was there; he always knew just what to say to make Jehan happy. This harshened his sobbing, but he could feel Grantaire begin to braid his hair; for some reason, this made his shoulders relax, like Grantaire had absorbed all of his tension with his gentle touch. Jehan rubbed at his face with the end of his soft, oversized sleeve. “Go ahead, talk, it’s okay.” Grantaire was soft and warm. Jehan wanted to die.

“I love him,” Jehan mumbled. This was the first and only thing that kept coming into his mind. He felt another warm pressure on his knee, but he could not bring himself to acknowledge it; he felt that, if he dropped his focus from Grantaire, he might just lose his mind altogether. This grip he had was far too fragile. “R, I love him so much.” The words began flowing out of him, thoughts falling out of his mouth before he could even have the time to think them. “I can’t live without him. I love him, what if-”

“Don’t get stuck in ‘what ifs’, Jehan,” Grantaire interrupted. He tied off the end of Jehan’s new, neat braid with a rubber band from his wrist. “Focus on what’s happening, on reality.” Jehan nodded slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. Grantaire still seemed to pick up on it. In that moment, however, to Jehan, Grantaire was not Grantaire; he was some nameless, faceless savior, come to rescue Jehan for this brief moment in time before the poet’s judgement day came. “There. Now, what’s happening?”

“They told me he has a cervical fracture, and he’s got a subdural hematoma, and they explained it, they said... it’s like a vein tore, or something, and they need to do surgery of the hemorrhage that’s compressing the brain, I think, and I asked if he was going to die, and they said they honestly didn’t know.” Jehan felt words erupting out of him, and he wanted it all to just stop; he wanted the room to stop spinning, his words to stop coming, Courfeyrac to stop dying. He twisted around to face Grantaire, hoping another human being can hold him on the Earth, stop him from escaping into space. “They didn’t know, Grantaire. He’s twenty-one! He’s not supposed to die!”

Grantaire began murmuring comforting nonsense to him, pulling the poet back into his arms until Jehan’s thin, tear-stained face was pressed into Grantaire’s soft paint-marked t-shirt. It sounded like Grantaire’s voice had shifted into questions, which ended in “...right?” Jehan struggled to come to the surface and focus. He still felt like he was drowning.

“Right,” Jehan managed. He felt Grantaire’s lips on the top of his head, and he pushed himself closer. The heavy weight remained on top of his head, doing gravity’s job for it. Jehan felt sure he might float away, if not for the anonymous savior beside him. Grantaire began talking again, and Jehan dragged himself into paying attention.

“Of course it’s right. Courfeyrac has to be the stupidest experiment. It’s only right.” Jehan forced himself into a laugh, but it felt so wrong. “He’s going to be okay. He’s pulled a lot of stupid shit.”

Jehan’s thoughts flew out of him again. “It wasn’t even his fault. Someone hit _him_.” Jehan paused. Grantaire nodded, encouraging him to go on. “They died, though. They died, and I know I should be sad that they died, R, but I’m not.” Jehan wondered if he should feel guilty, but he could not bring himself to feel anything other than disgusting sadness and the worst fear he has ever experienced.

“That’s okay,” Grantaire assured him in a whisper which flowed down Jehan’s hair and into his ears. “You shouldn’t have to feel anything. You can feel whatever you want.”

Jehan nodded and let his eyes fall shut. He wanted to stop dealing with everything; his face felt too hot, and his heart too cold, and everything too fast. He wanted to die without the permanence, in case Courfeyrac needed him back. He forced himself into sleep, and he had messy dreams, scattered images and colors. Everything hurt in his sleep, but less so than in reality. It was a bit of a relief. The warm blanket of Grantaire over him comforted him, even in his unconscious state, even if he did not know it.

He woke up to the world shaking. He struggled to focus, the world still a haze around him. It took a moment before everything came back to him, and he forced his hysteria away. He felt like he was forcing himself into a lot today. He lifted his head and blinked tiredly, trying to push away the remnants of sleep that clung to his mind. His eyes focused on Enjolras, and he was momentarily surprised to see his friend there.

“Jehan, the doctor wants to talk to you,” Enjolras explained to him softly. Jehan nodded and pulled himself out of Grantaire’s arms as carefully as he could. He noticed all the people crowded around him, and he knew Courfeyrac would be thrilled to know they all cared about him. He would tell them all so, too. Jehan stepped over Marius and allowed the elderly doctor to lead him off to a more secluded area of the hospital room. He steeled himself for the worst; he was still asleep enough that he was still weak, and not fully in reality yet.

“Mr. Courfeyrac is going to live. The surgery was a success, and we’re just waiting for him to wake up now,” the doctor informed Jehan softly, a small smile on his face. Jehan’s hands flew to his mouth, and sobs were ripping their way out of him before he could stop them. It was such a huge sense of relief that he wanted to float away from the free feeling he got; the heavy weight that had settled on him was suddenly gone from his shoulders, and he was no longer Atlas.

The doctor was laying a hand on his unburdened shoulder and jerking his head away from Jehan. The poet did not notice the odd behavior, but he understood it when Enjolras suddenly appeared beside him. Jehan threw himself into Enjolras, needing to hold onto something, and he allowed himself to cry into his leader’s throat. Enjolras stiffened, and Jehan quickly realized what Enjolras must have assumed.

“He’s okay,” Jehan made himself say around sobs that were quickly becoming a hysterical mix of laughter and crying. He needed Enjolras to know everything would be okay; he needed to share this. He felt Enjolras’ eyes land on him, and he tipped his head up, meeting the wet, worried, confused eyes of Courfeyrac’s best friend. He wanted to brush the tears away; they looked wrong on Enjolras’ face. “No, Enjolras, stop crying, he’s okay, he’s going to be fine, he’s fine. He’s fine, he’s going to live, he’s going to be absolutely perfect. He’s okay, he’s going to be okay.”

Jehan stopped talking when Enjolras pulled him into a tight hug. Jehan clung to him, and Enjolras to him. “He’s okay.”

Jehan nodded against Enjolras’ shoulder, his movements jerky and blissful. “Yeah, he’s okay.” Jehan started up laughing and crying again, his emotions mixing up inside of him, his sensitive soul rupturing, and Enjolras started laughing.

* * *

Jehan did not leave the hospital, not once. His friends would all leave for periods of time, then return with small things for Courfeyrac. He felt himself getting more and more tired, haggard, desperate; his friends helped as best as they could, but nothing helped. He felt that the only thing that would have helped was seeing Courfeyrac’s gorgeous brown eyes again. His boyfriend looked so horrifically unlike himself; his hair had been shaved for the surgery, and Jehan found himself missing Courfeyrac’s lovely curls of hair tremendously. There was a white bandaged wrapped around his head, and his skin was mottled by bruises and small, stitched-up cuts. His face was slack, his body limp and unmoving, no smile was dancing on his lips, and it was just so wrong that it made Jehan want to cry every time he looked at Courfeyrac, which was, if he was being honest, always. He waited at Courfeyrac’s bedside night and day, spending the time in the uncomfortable chair for the first night until a nurse took pity on him and brought in a cot for him to sleep on at night. Jehan did not sleep very much at all, but it was the thought that counted.

It was on the fourth night with Courfeyrac that the extraordinary happened. Grantaire had come that night and all but forced Jehan to sit down instead of pacing back and forth across the room. Combeferre and Enjolras had stopped in, but had soon left and taken the seats outside the room. Jehan and Grantaire had fallen asleep to the low sounds of the two best friends talking to each other by the door. Jehan was awakened by a soft, familiar noise, and he blinked his eyes open to discover Courfeyrac looking right at him, his expression bewildered. Jehan shouted - though what he said, he did not know - and launched himself at Courfeyrac. His lips were on Courfeyrac’s without any actual thought or order given from Jehan’s brain. Luckily, Courfeyrac accepted him on instinct, kissing back like he was trying to breathe Jehan’s air for him. His brown eyes - the ones that Jehan had missed so, so much, the ones he had worried he would never see again - remained open, however, wide and confused as they stared into Jehan’s gaunt face.

“What the fuck?” Courfeyrac breathed when Jehan released him for a brief moment to breathe his own air. Jehan began laughing again out of sheer joy, and this brought on fresh tears. He could feel presences in the room, and, suddenly, Enjolras and Combeferre were there, touching Courfeyrac, saying things to him that Jehan could not really pick up on. All of his senses were focused on Courfeyrac, on absorbing him, on memorizing every inch of him.

When the two guys finally stopped talking, Courfeyrac laughed, and Jehan wanted to take up residence inside the beautiful sound of it. “Damn. Leave it to me, right? This’ll make a good story for my grandkids, though.”

 _Grandkids._ Courfeyrac was okay. They were going to have a family. They still had that. Courfeyrac was going to have _grandkids_ with him. The very thought itself started his sobbing anew, and Courfeyrac pulled him close.

“It’s okay, Jehan. It’s okay,” Courfeyrac murmured low in his ear. “I love you so much. I’m okay.”

Jehan laughed through the words. Courfeyrac kept murmuring to him the same words, over and over, and Jehan wanted to bask in them like they were sunlight. He felt a hand pulling at him far too soon, doctors and nurses forcing him to leave with Enjolras and Combeferre. He clung to Courfeyrac and was tugged away from him by Combeferre. He was angry at the separation, but the anger was crushed by the insane amount of joy that was flooding his system. He felt as though he was going to burst, and he could not stop bouncing around the hallway, constantly on the tips of his toes. Combeferre and Enjolras were discussing something; Enjolras pat the poet’s hand before vanishing down the hallway. Jehan could not bring himself to wonder what was going on.

“This is great,” Combeferre finally said. Jehan took his words as a request to be attacked, and so he threw his arms around Combeferre and hugged him fiercely. Combeferre returned the tight, enthusiastic embrace, smiling into Jehan’s mess of hair. He remained there, partially pretending that Combeferre was Courfeyrac, until the nurses and doctors vacated the room and let the two friends back inside. An excited nurse brought a tray of food to Courfeyrac and Jehan, kissing the top of Jehan’s head before waving and leaving.

“Flirting with girls without me?” Courfeyrac teased as Jehan climbed back into the bed beside him.

“I can’t do anything without you,” Jehan offered in response. Courfeyrac laughed and kissed Jehan’s cheek before grabbing the food with one hand, his other hand claimed by Jehan.

“God, I’m starving,” Courfeyrac growled, attacking the food despite the low quality Jehan knew all too well the food possessed. He was still devouring the food when Grantaire and Enjolras reappeared. “Grantaire! Thank God you’re back! The food they’re giving me here is shit, so I need you to steal me a pizza.”

Jehan snuggled closer into Courfeyrac, desperately trying to crawl into his skin and protect him for the rest of their lives.

* * *

After many, many promises from Courfeyrac that he would take it easy - and even more promises from Jehan that he would force his boyfriend into taking it easy - the hospital decided it was time to release him into the poet’s strong, capable hands. A week and a half after Courfeyrac woke up found the two of them packing up Bahorel’s clunker of a truck, generously loaned to them once again by their friend. The car ride was silent for a good amount of time; much to Jehan’s delight, Courfeyrac did not seem afraid of being on the road again. He could feel it in the air when Courfeyrac decided to initiate some sort of conversation, though the silence was comfortable; everything was comfortable between the two of them. Jehan lived for it.

“I love you, you know,” Courfeyrac said, his voice soft and deep. Jehan could not help but spare him a glance and smile at him.

“I do know,” Jehan assured him. He caught sight of Courfeyrac’s eyes falling down to his hands as he turned his head back to focus on the road.

“Nobody will tell me,” Courfeyrac began hesitantly. Jehan nodded him on. “...and I didn’t really want to ask, but... is the person in the other car... are they okay?”

Jehan reached out blindly and took Courfeyrac’s hand in one of his own, trying to help steel him for the blow this would inevitably be. Courfeyrac would likely be far more upset about the loss of the other driver than Jehan had been - and still was, if he was being honest.

“No, I’m sorry,” Jehan answered quietly, ripping off the bandaid. Courfeyrac nodded, his eyes focusing on their hands. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Jehan’s hand.

“I feel bad,” Courfeyrac finally whispered. Jehan could not help the frown that fell onto his face.

“You shouldn’t feel bad, it was their fault.” _And they almost took you from me._

“If I hadn’t been there, they would be alive now,” Courfeyrac replied. His voice sounded on edge; Jehan squeezed his hand.

“If it wasn’t you,” Jehan said back softly, “it would’ve been someone else. I know you’re upset, but they almost killed you, Courf.” Jehan tipped his head back to look at Courfeyrac again, and he found him to still be looking down, his expression nearly unreadable. Only nearly, though, because Jehan was fluent in Courfeyrac; his expression said that he was feeling torn, and guilty. Jehan bit at his lip.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Courfeyrac mumbled. He ran the hand not trapped in Jehan’s over the top of his bandaged head, and frowned at how unfamiliar it felt under his fingers. Jehan raised the hand he held and kissed the back of it, trying to share his sense of peace with Courfeyrac. It seemed to work, but only slightly; still, that was better than nothing.

“I love you,” Jehan offered, knowing there was nothing else he could say. Courfeyrac simply nodded and let the comfortable silence settle over them again. They soon reached their home, and Courfeyrac made his way inside while Jehan insisted upon dragging in their two bags of dirty clothes from the hospital. There was so much noise inside, and Jehan moved away from it all, throwing their clothes in the washing machine and making some pasta for Courfeyrac to eat when he was ready. He left it in the microwave and left a sticky note with Courfeyrac’s name (and a death threat, for good measure) on the plate. He made his way back into the living room, noticing that, despite his usual charm, Courfeyrac looked worn out. He was grinning at everyone who talked to him and smacked his shoulder; Gavroche was clinging to his back, despite Joly’s fretting. Jehan snuck in and stole Courfeyrac away, dragging him upstairs and away from the group. Dinner could be eaten later, he supposed. Grantaire nearly attacked anyone who tried to follow them or say anything more to Courfeyrac, and Jehan made a mental note to thank Grantaire in the morning for all he had done.

Jehan stripped Courfeyrac for him, pulling off all of his clothes and helping him into bed. He did the same for himself and ignored the fact that they both really needed a shower. He released his hair from its braid and climbed into bed beside Courfeyrac. The uncharacteristic tension that had set into Courfeyrac’s shoulders since their discussion in the car had disappeared when Jehan joined him in their bed, and the poet sighed happily.

“I love you,” Jehan murmured into the hollow of Courfeyrac’s throat. The Psych major tugged Jehan close, wrapping his arms around the poet and entangling their legs. Jehan still felt it was not close enough, but he had no idea how to get closer.

“I love you,” Courfeyrac whispered back, smiling. Jehan snuggled in impossibly closer and waited until Courfeyrac fell asleep before he, too, succumbed, a grin on his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing as I go. Comments, prompts, whatever you want, just leave them with me. I'll take good care of them, I promise. The precioussssss.


	17. The One Where Everyone Almost Gets To Be Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alphonse will not fall asleep, Grantaire thinks Enjolras is running a fever, Enjolras cannot dress himself, and Eponine's window gets broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be happy. Honestly. Just happy and carefree and sweet. Then this mess happened.

_June 29, 2013 - Back To The Present_

“It’s way too hot,” Enjolras mumbled into the pillow on the sofa. Grantaire resituated the newborn child crying against his chest.

“Go to bed, you know the attic’s cooler,” Grantaire replied, not taking his eyes off of Alphonse. “Come on, Alfie. Stop crying.”

“Where’s Cosette?” Enjolras asked, raising his head just enough so that he could peer at Grantaire. The dark-haired man was pacing back and forth across the room, bouncing the baby lightly as he walked, clearly out of his element.

“I told her and Marius to get some sleep, since they didn’t yesterday and this house has too many people in it for them not to be sleeping,” Grantaire answered, finally standing still and shifting the child again. He started humming quietly, and Alphonse quieted.

“I think you got it,” Enjolras commented softly. Grantaire grinned.

“I’m a natural,” Grantaire whispered. He looked down at the little redhead. “You’re just loving this, aren’t you?”

“He’s not going to say anything back.” Enjolras sat up, watching as Grantaire came over and took a seat beside Enjolras on the sofa. He gave Enjolras a look that plainly said _no shit_.

“It’s fun to talk to someone who doesn’t talk back for a change,” Grantaire teased before yawning. He looked at Enjolras appraisingly for a moment. “Turn and face me. Cross your legs up on the sofa.”

Enjolras hesitated for a moment, but he ultimately followed the instructions, shifting until he was in the position Grantaire ordered him into. Grantaire himself then shifted into the same position and nudged at Enjolras’ left arm.

“I’m going to help you hold him,” Grantaire explained in a low voice when Enjolras looked at him with confusion plain on his face. “You haven’t held him yet. I’d like you to.”

Enjolras shifted again and held up his left arm, the one not encased in a cast. Grantaire transferred the sleeping child into the space between Enjolras’ arm and chest. Enjolras immediately tried to tighten his grip, but Grantaire smacked at his hand until he loosened up. He slid his own left arm underneath the baby to keep him steady.

“See? Not so hard if we work together,” Grantaire said softly, his head bent forward to watch Alphonse’s sleeping face. Enjolras watched Grantaire for a moment before doing the same.

“He does look an awful lot like Marius,” Enjolras commented. Grantaire nodded, the motion causing their foreheads to bump together. “I wonder what Eponine’s baby will look like.”

“Our baby,” Grantaire corrected. Enjolras frowned slightly.

“Your baby. Technically.” Enjolras raised his eyes to look at Grantaire’s face again, and was surprised to make eye contact; Grantaire had already been looking at him. “Legally, I mean.”

“Don’t start this again. Just enjoy this moment,” Grantaire said, his tone exasperated. He let his gaze fall back down to Alphonse. “I’m going to put him to bed like Cosette showed me. Then will you come upstairs with me?”

“I love you,” Enjolras offered suddenly. Grantaire furrowed his brow and lifted his head up. Enjolras did the same, and their noses were merely a millimeter apart.

“I love you, too. Are you feeling alright?” Grantaire pressed their foreheads together. “You don’t feel warm. Wait, did you take painkillers again?”

“I’m allowed to tell you I love you without being sick or on drugs, you know,” Enjolras said, only half-joking. Grantaire’s mouth pressed into a firm line briefly.

“But you don’t. That’s why it’s odd.” Grantaire’s eyes darted between Enjolras before they dropped back down to Alphonse. “I’ll put him in bed.”

“Grantaire, listen to me,” Enjolras demanded. Grantaire’s attention snapped back to the blond man before him. “I love you. It doesn’t matter if I never said it again, that fact would never change. Do you understand me?”

Grantaire’s light eyes darkened. “I do. Let me put him to bed in Cosette’s room. Go upstairs, and I’ll meet you there.”

There was an edge to Grantaire’s voice that was particularly promising, so Enjolras separated from him and heaved himself off the sofa. He followed behind Grantaire up to Marius and Cosette’s room, where he snuck in and tucked the baby into the bassinet as gently and quietly as he could. The very sight itself seemed to warm Enjolras’ generally chilly heart, and he took the stairs two at a time before Grantaire could notice him. He was already in their bed by the time Grantaire reached the attic, shutting their bedroom door behind him.

Grantaire climbed onto the bed and over Enjolras in the dark, stripping the blond man of his clothes. This was more out of necessity than anything; Enjolras had been having difficulty in the past few days maneuvering his clothes off and on with the cast, so Grantaire had taken to helping him. It was really a win-win situation. Enjolras made a low noise and realized it was so dark because his eyes were shut. Upon opening them, he realized the room was almost as black, and Grantaire himself was almost invisible in the darkness. The only part of Grantaire that was honestly visible was his shocking blue eyes. Enjolras reached up and twisted a fistful of Grantaire’s soft, worn shirt in his good hand. He dragged the artist down until those bright eyes were right in front of him, like headlights.

“You’re right,” Enjolras murmured, licking his bottom lip involuntarily. “I meant to say _our_.”

Grantaire smiled in the darkness and pressed their lips together softly; the kiss itself was chaste, as far as their kisses tended to go. A scream from somewhere within the house broke them apart.

“Eponine,” Grantaire realized at once. He was off the bed and down the stairs in a flash, despite the fact that his pants were undone and his shirt wrinkled. Enjolras tried to drag his pants back on, and succeeded, with time. By the time he reached Eponine and Gavroche’s room, utter hell had broken loose. There were boys everywhere, fighting a group of men that looked oddly familiar, yet Enjolras could not place them. Eponine’s window was open, and the girl herself was curled up in the corner, her face bent downwards. Enjolras threw himself forward, scooped her up - ignoring the pain in his right arm as he did so - and carried her bridal-style into the hallway.

“Get Joly,” Eponine mumbled into Enjolras’ shoulder. The blond nodded and was about to put her down before he looked back in the room. He was not sure of anything that was happening; nothing made sense, and everything felt like a dream. He tightened his grip on Eponine and went on a search for Joly, who he had not seen in the room. He presumed the man was grabbing first aid supplies from one of his many secret stashes on each floor. Eponine’s head lolled against his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, bear with me here for a moment. I've been toying with the idea of Eponine's and Montparnasse's (Grantaire's (and secretly Enjolras', but you won't hear that from him)) baby not make it. I am severely on the fence about this, so if you feel strongly that this is something you don't want or can't handle, please let me know and I won't do it. It would honestly make my decision that much easier. Let me know as soon as you can, darlings. On the one hand, actual plot. On the other hand, that is just really dark and I don't want to do something like that to them. You feel? I'm sorry about this, I am.


	18. The One Where Everyone's Okay, I Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire snaps, Combeferre won't leave Eponine's side for two seconds, Gavroche has made some observations, and Enjolras learns some more about Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response I received on the last chapter was not the response I was expecting, believe you me. We'll talk more in the end notes.

Grantaire was acutely aware that Enjolras had taken Eponine from the room. He and Marius were currently tag-teamed to beat the shit out of one of the four men who had climbed into Eponine’s second-floor room. Cosette had come in and taken Gavroche out with her, shouting a promise to go upstairs and get the others as she went. Jehan was evenly matched with two different men, and Courfeyrac was darting around Montparnasse, trying to keep the man confused enough not to kill him. Marius jumped on the back of the man that he and Grantaire were fighting, and Jehan had taken down his two men, so Grantaire decided to turn to Montparnasse.

“If you hurt Eponine, I’ll kill you,” Grantaire growled, shoving past Courfeyrac to swing a fist into Montparnasse’s jaw. The man’s head snapped back, then returned forward, and he did not go down. This was something he was clearly used to. Grantaire felt something in him snap at the thought that this man may have hurt Eponine - that this man may have hurt his _child_ \- and he was suddenly attacked Montparnasse with strength he did not even know he possessed. The tall man was on the ground in seconds, but Grantaire kept beating at him. Hands were dragging them apart before he knew it.

“Grantaire, Grantaire, stop, it’s over,” Jehan was saying into his ear. All he felt was blind rage.

“Where’s Eponine?” Grantaire demanded, turning around. His vision blurred, and he blinked; everything was dark and red in his anger. “Is she okay?”

“You need to calm down,” Combeferre ordered, appearing out of nowhere to force Grantaire to sit down on the end of Gavroche’s bed. “Calm down, Grantaire, come on. She’s going to be fine, Joly’s got her now.”

“Is he dead?” Grantaire asked, trying to turn his head to look at Montparnasse, lying on the ground. Courfeyrac and Bahorel had the other three wounded men sitting against the wall; anytime any one of them moved, Bahorel edged towards them slightly, and they fell still again. Jehan grabbed his head and yanked it back.

“Don’t look at him. Calm down.” Jehan looked him evenly in the eyes. “Calm down. Take a deep breath with me.”

Grantaire inhaled when Jehan did, then exhaled with him. A few more breaths found Grantaire shutting his eyes and letting his head fall into his hands.

“He’s not dead, right?” Grantaire asked quietly. Jehan nodded.

“He’ll be fine. Cosette called the police, they’re on their way.” Jehan took hold of Grantaire’s chin and raised his head. “It’s going to be alright.”

Grantaire nodded and let himself relax into Jehan’s touch as the poet smoothed strands of hair away from his sweaty face. “Can I see Eponine now?”

“Yes, come with me.” Jehan took hold of Grantaire’s upper arms and helped him up. Grantaire was vaguely aware that his right leg hurt, and he had a headache. He ignored the other men in the room as Jehan led him down the stairs and into the living room. As soon as he caught sight of Eponine, he abandoned the poet to hurry to the girl’s side. It took him a moment to even notice that Enjolras, Joly, Marius, Gavroche, and Cosette were there.

“She’s going to be just fine,” Joly promised. “Both of them are. She just got hit in the head, there’s no damage to the rest of her. There’s barely any damage to her head, actually. She’s very lucky.”

Grantaire gathered Eponine up in his arms and kissed her hair. “I love you,” Grantaire murmured against the top of her head. Eponine wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed. Combeferre appeared beside him then, and Eponine suddenly released Grantaire. The artist stepped back and let Combeferre step forward. He was surprised to see him wrap his arms around Eponine and hold her close like he could protect her from the world. Grantaire felt a warm hand fall on his shoulder, and he turned to find Enjolras holding onto him.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked, his voice low and soft. Grantaire nodded and let his head fall onto Enjolras’ shoulder. “You’ve got quite the bruise there.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Grantaire mumbled, his voice muffled by Enjolras’ bare skin. He could feel circles being rubbed into his back by Enjolras’ good hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Enjolras murmured in Grantaire’s ear. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re shaking.”

“He almost killed Montparnasse,” Combeferre informed them. Eponine’s head shot up to look at Grantaire, thought the artist’s eyes were closed and his face was pressed into Enjolras’ shoulder.

“You’re so stupid,” Enjolras growled, his voice angry. Grantaire was not sure whether or not this anger was directed at him or not, so he chose to err on the side of caution and not look at Enjolras’ face or respond to him.

“He went nuts, I’m telling you. It was just insane.” Marius looked up from Cosette’s face to meet Enjolras’ eyes. “You wouldn’t’ve believed it if you’d seen it.”

“I thought he hurt Eponine,” Grantaire explained quietly. He removed himself from Enjolras to face the room at large, which had gained a surprising amount of people since he tried to shut himself away from it. “I couldn’t... I just got so _angry_.”

“I’m fine,” Eponine assured him. She reached out, and Grantaire moved closer, taking her hand. Combeferre simply sat down and shifted so she could sit beside him on the sofa. Gavroche abandoned his spot on the floor and threw himself onto the sofa on Eponine’s other side. “She’s fine, I’m fine. Grantaire, we’re both fine.”

Grantaire nodded and pressed the back of her hand to his lips, but Enjolras fell silent. He moved over to Eponine and crouched in front of her, just off to the side, right beside Grantaire.

“Did you say she?” Enjolras asked softly. Grantaire’s head lifted. Eponine immediately opened her mouth, alarmed. She let it fall closed, unsure of what to say, and the room was silent for a moment. She could feel ten sets of eyes burning into her. Courfeyrac and Bahorel were still on watch upstairs, and Musichetta had not stayed over with her boys tonight, but everyone else was in the living room, waiting for the police.

“I’m sorry, I called and asked after the last appointment,” Eponine apologized all at once, her words a rush. Combeferre gingerly took her hand, like he was worried she might run away if he moved too quickly. She turned to look at Grantaire. “I know you wanted to be surprised, Grantaire, but I couldn’t wait. I was curious.”

“A girl,” Grantaire said softly. He let his head fall down to Eponine’s lap. “Oh, my God.”

Enjolras opened his mouth, but the blare of police sirens roaring up to their home beat him to the punch. He shut his mouth again, choosing instead to wordlessly card his hand through Grantaire’s hair as Combeferre answered the door.

* * *

“They’re gone,” Combeferre murmured, slipping into Eponine’s room. “The cops, Montparnasse, his assholes. All of them.”

“Are the boys all okay?” Eponine asked tiredly, sitting up in her bed. Combeferre nodded and filled the spot beside her.

“You’re very brave,” Combeferre said in a low voice. Eponine snorted.

“I hid in the corner until the man with the broken arm had to save me,” Eponine replied drily. Combeferre shook his head and took one of her hands in both of his. He played with her fingers absently, his glasses sliding down to the end of his nose as he looked down at their hands.

“You protected yourself and your child,” Combeferre reminded her. “That’s very commendable.”

“It’s not my child,” Eponine answered automatically. She swallowed when Combeferre turned his eyes back on her.

“But she is.” Combeferre ceased playing with her hand and shifted slightly. “Are you sure you want to do this? Let Grantaire raise this child? I mean, it’s not that I don’t trust him, but it’s _Grantaire_. He can barely take care of himself. I’m pretty sure that’s mostly Enjolras.”

Eponine frowned. “She won’t be any better off with me. I certainly can’t take care of myself.”

“You’d have me.”

“And Grantaire has Enjolras.”

“That’s not the same thing.” Combeferre squared his jaw and took a deep breath. “I’m telling you I’d be willing to help you through this.”

“I made my decision,” Eponine told him firmly. “I don’t want a kid now, Combeferre. I don’t even know if I want kids _ever_. This was a mistake that now Grantaire will have to deal with. If he’s willing to deal with it, more power to him. I’ll be the cool aunt or whatever. I’m not going to raise her, and I more than trust Grantaire.”

“You know how Grantaire is,” Combeferre offered weakly. Eponine’s expression hardened.

“I do know how Grantaire is. I’ve known him longer than any of you lot have.” Eponine pulled her hand away from Combeferre. “I know he’s always there for me. I know he listens. I know he’s great with Gavroche, since the kid loves him. I know he’s willing to make something of my mess, and I know I can trust him. The only thing I don’t know is why he’s doing this.”

“I don’t know, either,” Combeferre murmured. He leaned in as though to kiss her, but Eponine pulled back ever so slightly.

“When you trust me,” Eponine promised, a rough tint in her eyes, “you can kiss me again.”

Combeferre laid a hand on top of her head before leaving her alone. As soon as the door shut, Gavroche was climbing into her bed.

“I thought you were asleep, kiddo,” Eponine whispered into the blackness. Her brother snuck under her blankets with her and pressed into her side.

“‘Ferre woke me up,” Gavroche replied, just as quietly, his voice hushed in the dark room. “He’s wrong about R.”

“How so?” Eponine asked, sliding onto her side. Gavroche tucked his head under her chin.

“He’s going to be a good dad. Better than ours.” Gavroche yawned. “Even Enjolras knows. He told me so himself.”

“Did he, now?” Eponine grinned, and Gavroche hummed his assent.

“You’re wrong about you, though,” Gavroche continued. “You’re my favorite person. Above R and Courf and all them.

“I’m honored,” Eponine whispered back.

“You should be,” Gavroche informed her before falling asleep. Eponine wrapped an arm around her little brother and closed her eyes.

* * *

“Are you alright?” Enjolras asked as he shut off the light over their bed. Grantaire shifted against their pillows and blinked into the darkness. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”

“I was so scared,” Grantaire confessed ignoring the light jab. Enjolras climbed into bed beside him, tucking the covers around them both. “I didn’t know if... I mean, I know it hasn’t happened yet, but I already feel like she’s my family, you know?”

“Mm,” Enjolras agreed. He pressed his face into Grantaire’s neck and threw his arm over the artist’s chest. “I was thinking about that after. I didn’t have time to think about it when it was all happening, it was too insane. But, afterwards, all I could think of is our daughter could have died.”

Grantaire turned his head down to look into Enjolras’ surprised face. The blond quickly corrected himself.

“ _Your_. Your daughter.” Enjolras pushed his face further into Grantaire’s skin. The artist nodded and pulled him closer.

“I understand,” Grantaire said so low, so sadly, that Enjolras shut his eyes and held back a sigh.

“I can’t raise a child, Grantaire. You’ve got to understand _that_.” Enjolras opened his eyes and lifted his head. “I don’t know why you’re doing this.”

“Because I have to,” Grantaire answered quietly, simply, like this was the easiest thing in the world when it certainly, plainly was not. “Because what other chance am I going to get? I’m gay, I’ve got a record as long as Russia, and I’m a fucking mess. I take the luck I can get. I got you, I got her, I got friends and a place to live and an education and this is more than I _ever_ expected out of my life. This is my opportunity, Enjolras. I’ve got to take it.”

“You can wait. Give her up for adoption, and we can adopt later, when we’re ready,” Enjolras suggested. Grantaire turned his face away from him.

“The system’s a wreck, Enjolras. I can’t send Eponine’s kid into that. I barely made it out of that,” Grantaire confessed, and Enjolras suddenly realized that he had no idea what Grantaire meant.

“What?” Enjolras whispered, and Grantaire’s eyes were wide when they returned to Enjolras’ face.

“I forgot that you didn’t know.” Grantaire ran his free hand over his face, pulling at his skin. “My parents weren’t exactly winners, so the state took me. Nobody wants a fucked-up eleven-year-old bastard of a kid who's ugly as fuck and always looks like he just got the shit kicked out of him. They always wanted the babies and the cute little girls and the handsome, well-behaved little boys. So, they stuck me in foster homes, which just got worse and worse as I got older. I tell you, I’m surprised I made it to eighteen to get out of there.” Grantaire breathed out and smiled apologetically at Enjolras, but it looked fake. “There, now you know why I’m all fucked up.”

“I had no idea,” Enjolras managed to say, his voice sounding strangled. Grantaire snorted and let his head fall back against the pillows.

“Of course you didn’t. Nobody does. I got lucky and got a full ride here because some art teacher in one of my last high schools liked my work and submitted me for something that ended up bringing me here.” Grantaire bit his lip, too hard, and grimaced when he tasted blood in his mouth. Enjolras inched up Grantaire’s body until their heads were side-by-side. Grantaire turned so that their foreheads were touching, their cheeks resting on the pillow.

“Why don’t you fight for the rights of the people when you were one of them?” Enjolras inquired softly. Grantaire’s eyes fell back in his head and he set his jaw.

“Because I’ve been there, and I know it’s not going to change.” Grantaire shifted closer to Enjolras. “I want to save her from all that. I want to save someone, Enjolras. Be proud of me.”

“You should want to save you,” Enjolras argued, but he knew this was over, and he had lost.

“I would, but you beat me to it,” Grantaire half-teased, bringing his chin up so that his lips could seek out Enjolras’. “Will you do this with me? Please?”

“I’ll do my best,” Enjolras promised. Grantaire grinned, and it was blinding.

“That’s all I can ask of you.”

“That’s all you need ask of me.”

“I love you,” Grantaire murmured, and the words sounded like a confession and a prayer. Enjolras basked in them, allowing himself this joy, this moment.

“I love you,” Enjolras said in return, kissing Grantaire again. The kiss was soft and slow, and Grantaire fell asleep during it. Enjolras forgave him instantly, and they fell asleep together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. I got many, many comments throughout the course of my day. Some people were of the strong belief that I should do it, some were of the strong belief that I should not do it, some trusted me to do right by either way, some people didn't care, some people were angry, some people were bossy, some people were fussy, some people were worried. I read each and every comment and thought them over (and over, and over, and over), and finally came to the conclusion that I'm not going to do it, because I can't hurt them anymore. I'm just going to shove a lot of fluff into this story from now on. I think they've been sad more than often enough. So, there you have it, my decision. Thank you all for your help - I had no idea so many people even read this, never mind cared about it. Thanks. Also, I'll probably be writing about Eponine's (Grantaire's) baby less now, except to mention in passing, because the group is my main focus, and I want to get back to that. I've distracted myself, and that needs to stop.
> 
> If you have a request for something fluffy you want to see, comment with it. I'd love to write it for you. And you can use any of the pairings I have listed, because they're all lovely. If you want to read about multiple people or someone not in a relationship, that's cool, too. I'll write anything for you lot.


	19. The One Where The House's Layout Is Explained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we view the layouts of the third, second, and first floor, and see my headcanon for the outside of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because I want everything to be clear for everybody.

Outside of the house (except, in my headcanon, they're in a relatively scarcely populated area, and their house is surrounded by lawn, and the street is long and suburban):

 

First floor:

 

Second floor:

 

Third floor:

 

 

If you need any further clarification, give me a buzz. I get that my "directions" here aren't the clearest things in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received a comment today that got me thinking. The comment was rude, I think, and harsh, but I read it a few times. It started a train of thought for me.
> 
> It got me thinking that maybe I'm not pleasing enough of you. While I left her a scathing reply - her delivery and explanations left much to be desired, and it actually made me really angry to read her comment - I began to wonder: am I doing something horribly wrong?
> 
> Most of you have no problems telling me what you do or don't like, but I want to make sure I'm providing you with what you want. This is, after all, not just my story; I share it with you. Are you all alright with what's going on here? I'm just asking, because I worry.


	20. The One Where Everyone Gets Laid (Except Gavroche)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras loses a bet, Joly's got a van and a bedroom on the third floor, Combeferre trusts Eponine, and there are ginger midgets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that, hey, if I'm going to make them happy, I may as well make them REALLY happy. Am I right?

“What’s this benefit for, again?” Grantaire asked, pulling at his sleeves. Eponine smacked his hands away again and continued to fix his jacket.

“Knowing Enjolras, it’s a charity benefit for homeless orphaned bunnies with cancer,” Eponine grumbled. Grantaire snorted.

“I heard that,” Enjolras called from the bathroom. He stuck his head out of the door, a toothbrush in his mouth. “A larger division of Amnesty International is putting on a benefit for human rights.”

“Why do we all have to go?” Courfeyrac asked, dragging himself down the stairs. Marius and Jehan followed closely behind him.

“Because we’re a student group, Courfeyrac.” Enjolras frowned at him and removed the toothbrush from his mouth. “You know that. You’re third in command here.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to get stuffed into a suit, it means I want to help people,” Courfeyrac grumbled. Combeferre adjusted his collar for him and stepped back to appraise the group.

“This is a way to help people,” Enjolras informed him, disappearing back into the bathroom. “We’ll give ourselves a face, and we’ll hopefully gain support from the other, larger divisions that’ll be present.”

“But do we have to look like morons?” Courfeyrac called after him. Jehan smoothed his hands over Courfeyrac’s chest and smiled at him.

“I think you look handsome,” Jehan told him in a low voice. Courfeyrac grinned predatorily.

“I’d look better wearing you,” Courfeyrac growled, and Enjolras reappeared in the room.

“Don’t,” Enjolras ordered immediately, pointing at Courfeyrac. “Stop that. Do that later.”

“You look good,” Grantaire murmured, suddenly appearing beside Enjolras, his voice low in his ear. He was effectively distracted enough that Courfeyrac felt safe when he let his head fall down to kiss Jehan.

“You guys are absolutely ridiculous!” Feuilly exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and giving up on trying to tie his own tie. “Can you all stop humping each other for three seconds? Seriously! This is borderline incestuous.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him while Cosette moved over to him swiftly and began tying his tie for him.

“I’ll hump you, if you really want,” Courfeyrac offered, grinning. Jehan smacked his chest and wandered away. Marius tugged on Cosette’s hand as soon as she finished helping Feuilly.

“You look beautiful,” Marius told her. She smiled up at him, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Pontmercy,” Cosette replied, smoothing her hands over his lapels. Marius reached up and caught her wrists in his freckled hands, but before he could lean down and kiss her, Courfeyrac had laid a hand on his shoulder and tugged him backwards.

“If I can’t, you can’t.” Courfeyrac grinned at Marius and slapped him on the back. He frowned at his friend, but Cosette just shrugged and directed her attention elsewhere.

“Are we taking different cars, or are we all fitting in Joly’s van?” Musichetta asked over the voices. Enjolras lifted his head to meet Joly’s eyes, and the pre-med student nodded.

“We’ll all be fitting in Joly’s van,” Enjolras answered. A chorus of groans hit the room, but Courfeyrac high-fived Feuilly over Eponine’s head. “Eponine, is Gavroche upstairs?”

“He’s unaware we’re leaving and that he’s spending the night with the Lark. We can go,” Eponine answered back, though she could not even see Enjolras through the six people standing between them.

“Get in the van!” Bahorel bellowed over the voices. The room was quiet for a moment.

“Wear your seatbelts!” Joly announced, breaking the sudden silence. Bossuet laughed, and soon everyone was laughing as they were ushered out of their home.

* * *

Thanks to some creative seating and Joly’s ever-cautious driving, all twelve of them - Cosette had elected to remain behind with her son and Gavroche - made it to the hall where the benefit was to be held in one piece. They piled out of the van, Musichetta only pausing outside the vehicle to touch up the makeup that was covering Grantaire’s black eye.

“Now, remember the rules,” Enjolras reminded them. Courfeyrac groaned and threw his hands in the air.

“We get it! No fucking up, and if we still can’t manage to not fuck up, don’t tell them who we are.” Courfeyrac grinned toothily at Enjolras. “We got your back. We can do this.”

“Please, nobody get drunk,” Enjolras said in a low, dangerous voice. His eyes fell on Courfeyrac, who just shrugged.

“You never know. There could be an orgy in there, and then who looks like a fool? You,” Courfeyrac laughed. Jehan hid a smile behind his hand. Enjolras remained unamused as he led the way into the hall, where the group immediately split off by couples. Feuilly grabbed Marius’ hand, and Grantaire thought they looked like someone had flicked them both with orange paint with how freckled they both looked standing side-by-side. Bahorel stole Bossuet from Joly and Musichetta, since his usual partner - Feuilly - had abandoned him for Marius in Cosette’s wake. Joly and Musichetta said their goodbyes to Bossuet and took off on their own. Combeferre held a hand out to Eponine, who took it with a small smile and let herself be led away. Courfeyrac, after observing Combeferre, bent at the waist and held his hand out to Jehan. The poet laid his hand in Courfeyrac’s, his face flushed with delicate pink as he tried to avoid looking at the people around him. Courfeyrac kissed his temple and dragged him away. Grantaire eyed Enjolras warily.

“No,” Enjolras said evenly before Grantaire could even move. Grantaire nodded once and simply followed after Enjolras when the blond moved to talk to some woman dressed in a purple dress that was probably worth more than Grantaire himself, if he had to hazard a guess. He bit at his lip and tried to look like he was enjoying himself.

* * *

“Just text him, it’ll be fun!” Gavroche insisted, pulling on Cosette’s sleeve. “C’mon, Lark. Messing with Marius is our favorite game.”

“‘Our’?” Cosette repeated, raising an eyebrow at the boy. He just shrugged.

“I’m not naming names, but you can’t tell me it’s not fun.” Gavroche threw himself onto the sofa and passed Cosette her phone. “Enjolras will never find out.”

“Enjolras will _always_ find out. You’d do well to remember that,” Cosette advised. Gavroche held his hands out to her; she handed him Alphonse, situated the infant’s head against his arm, and picked up her phone. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. It’d just be a bit of fun.”

“This is great,” Gavroche laughed. Cosette could not help but laugh with him.

* * *

“Why do you look like a freckled tomato?” Feuilly asked as Marius stared at the text message he had just received from Cosette in disbelief. “Yo. Marius. Over here.”

Marius only raised his head when Feuilly waved his hand in front of his friend’s face. Feuilly frowned and snatched Marius’ phone before the aforementioned owner of the phone could even blink. Feuilly read the message and let out a low whistle, his eyes wide.

“Didn’t know you and Cosette sexted each other.” Feuilly could not help but contain his grin as he handed Marius’ phone back to him. The red-faced man locked it and tucked it back into his pocket without replying.

“We don’t,” Marius said quietly. Feuilly’s grin widened.

“This is too good,” Feuilly told him in a low voice as a man approached them. He nudged Marius with his shoulder and stuck his hand out for a handshake.

* * *

“Marius looks like he’s choking,” Joly noted worriedly, wringing his hands together. Musichetta pulled his fingers apart and held his hands in hers.

“Everyone’s going to be fine, you don’t have to babysit them all the time,” Musichetta reminded him gently. Joly worried his bottom lip between his teeth before turning his attention to Musichetta.

“But they’re so...” Joly waved their joined hands through the air in place of the word he could not find to properly describe his friends’ exact level of carelessness. Musichetta leaned in so her lips touched his ear.

“If you let them take care of themselves, I will take care of you,” Musichetta offered, her voice low, sending a thrill through Joly’s system. He shivered, and she kissed the shell of his ear before withdrawing. “How’s that sound?”

“Great,” Joly answered immediately, his voice an octave too high. He blushed, and Musichetta smiled.

* * *

“I think Musichetta and Joly are getting distracted,” Bahorel pointed out, his deep voice rumbling somewhere to Bossuet’s left. The bald man lifted his head and was, indeed, met with the sight of his boyfriend and girlfriend standing incredibly close together. He wished he was nearer to them, in their group like he usually was. He glared at Bahorel. “Sorry, bud. You’re stuck with me tonight. Hey, at least you know you’re getting laid tonight. I’m probably not, unless Combeferre blows up and Eponine has a very sudden and very strange change of heart.”

“How do you know _I’m_ getting laid tonight?” Bossuet asked, his brow furrowing. Bahorel motioned towards Joly and Musichetta.

“Does that not look like she just whispered dirty things in his ear? You are _so_ getting laid tonight,” Bahorel told him with far too much seriousness for the topic. Bossuet nodded and subsequently did not notice when Bahorel stole away to flirt with a tiny little redhead standing alone.

* * *

“Nobody is doing their jobs,” Enjolras growled. Grantaire glanced around the room.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to look like we’re doing a job,” Grantaire offered. Enjolras glared at him, but Grantaire just shrugged off the weight of it. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. You need to have more faith in us.”

“I have plenty of faith in you. All of you,” Enjolras assured him. Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“You definitely don’t. Besides, it’s not like you’re exactly charming the masses.” Grantaire raised a hand to silence Enjolras before he could begin arguing. “I bet you that I can get someone in this room’s business card tonight just by being my naturally charming self.”

“You’re on,” Enjolras accepted immediately. He felt the strong need to see Grantaire put his money where his mouth was. “What are your terms?”

“When I win, you have to do whatever I want tonight.” Grantaire stepped slightly closer to Enjolras, though he was not so close that he was being obvious, because he knew Enjolras would be put off by that. As it was, Enjolras had a brief struggle to compose his expression.

“And if I win?” Enjolras asked, his voice only slightly strained. Grantaire smiled.

“ _If_ you win - and that’s a pretty big _if_ \- I’ll do whatever you want.” Grantaire paused. “Moreso than usual, I mean.”

“Alright.”

“Sexually.”

“I get it, Grantaire.” Enjolras ran a hand through his hair and surveyed the room. “I’ll follow you, go ahead.”

Grantaire’s eyes skimmed across the room, jumping from person to person before they landed on a woman around their age with long curls of brown hair, much like Musichetta, and big brown eyes. He nodded in her direction for Enjolras’ benefit and led the way to her.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” Grantaire greeted her, his voice deep, soft, and charmingly polite. Enjolras had never heard this voice on him before. He held out a hand, and took the woman’s fingers in his as he kissed the back of her hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” the woman replied, offering him a smile. She spoke with a rich Parisian accent that Enjolras had not been expecting. She withdrew her hand and tilted her head slightly. “My name is Emmanuelle.”

“A lovely name. _God is among us_ , indeed. My name is Grantaire. I wonder if you might get my nickname, considering you’re French yourself.” Grantaire leaned in, as though this was a secret, and Emmanuelle leaned in without even seeming to realize it. “I always sign my name with a capital R.”

“That is very funny.” Emmanuelle held her own hand, the strap of her small bag clutched between her fingers. “You’re French then, as well?”

“Oh, yes. I moved here when I was very young, though.” Grantaire ran a hand through his hair and smiled at her, and she automatically smiled back at him, as though it was contagious. “What brings you here?”

“I’m a student representative for Boston’s branch,” Emmanuelle informed him. Grantaire whistled.

“Impressive. You must have some remarkable qualities,” Grantaire complimented, and the woman shrugged one thin shoulder. “Come, now. They wouldn’t send just anyone. Tell me, what did you accomplish that led to such a decision?”

“I left home - Paris - several months ago to come here, and I staged a successful protest not a month later. The law we were protesting changed in a matter of weeks.” Emmanuelle let a proud expression settle on her face. Enjolras wanted to pull Grantaire back and take over when he realized this was the genius everyone had been talking about, but the artist was already neck-deep in conversation with her, complimenting her achievements and discussing one of Enjolras’ protests.

“You are a member of a division here, then?” Emmanuelle asked. Grantaire nodded and stepped aside to showcase Enjolras, who had been trying subtly to inject himself into the conversation.

“This here is the leader of our division, Enjolras,” Grantaire introduced. The two of them shook hands.

“You are French, as well?” Emmanuelle asked, her hand still in his. He nodded.

“I’m French-Canadian,” Enjolras informed her. She smiled and released his hand.

“Close enough,” she replied before turning back to Grantaire, who seemed far too pleased with himself.

“I was wondering, Emmanuelle, if our branch and yours might keep in contact? I’d love to see what new ideas you come up with, and how we can help you in our area. Based on the ideas you’ve told me, I’d hazard to guess you’re brilliant with this sort of thing.” Grantaire gave her a charming smile, and Enjolras swallowed. Emmanuelle laughed.

“Of course, of course. I’d love to keep speaking with both of you.” Emmanuelle reached into her small purse and pulled out a pen and a business card, on which she hastily scribbled a phone number. “The card only has my email, but I’d like to hear personally of any ideas you may have, as well. You intrigue me, R.”

“As you intrigue me, mademoiselle.” Grantaire kissed her hand again and the three of them said their goodbyes. Grantaire grinned at Enjolras the moment she was gone, holding up the business card. “I even got her _phone number_.”

Enjolras dropped his head down so that his long hair would cover his face, and nobody nearby could see his mouth as he spoke, just in case. “You’re going to do whatever you want to me later.”

When Enjolras raised his head again, Grantaire’s face had gone pale, and his eyes were vacant. Enjolras plucked the card from his fingers and tugged him along, seeking the rest of their group.

* * *

Eponine enjoyed watching Combeferre charm person after person. He was gentle and conversational. Where Enjolras was far better at leading a rebellion, Combeferre was far better at leading a conversation; where Enjolras inspired people, Combeferre walked among them. It was enchanting. As soon as there was a break in the seemingly endless chain of people, she stepped in front of him.

“You’re really in your element here,” Eponine commented. He smiled down at her, his glasses sliding down his nose at the angle.

“It’s born from necessity,” Combeferre informed her, brushing the compliment off. “Enjolras isn’t great talking at people, and Courfeyrac is a little _too_ good at talking to people. I’m our happy medium.”

“Well, you’re very good at it.” Eponine ran her hands over his chest.

“I believe you,” Combeferre murmured, his voice low. Eponine raised her eyes to meet his.

“Do you?” Eponine asked softly, her hands gripping the material of his suit jacket. He nodded.

“I do. I do trust you, Eponine.” Combeferre wrapped his hands around her wrists and bent his head down. She raised her head and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He turned his head and caught her lips.

“Well, I did make you a promise,” Eponine said softly into his mouth, her smile growing against his lips. Combeferre pulled back and inhaled deeply. Eponine’s hands tightened.

“We need to get home right now,” Combeferre stated matter-of-factly after a moment. Eponine nodded jerkily and turned to seek out Joly or Enjolras, their hands tangled together.

* * *

“Should we be talking to people instead of just eating desserts and hanging out in the corner?” Jehan asked around a mouthful of cupcake. Courfeyrac leaned in and licked the frosting off Jehan’s bottom lip before answering.

“Nah, this is about all we should be doing. Enjolras thinks I’m “too charming”,” -and here the air quotes were employed- “and ought not push people away by being my beautiful self.” Courfeyrac shrugged. Jehan held up the rest of his cupcake, and Courfeyrac took the rest of it into his mouth, his lips touching Jehan’s fingertips.

“Enjolras is wrong,” Jehan assured him. He licked the tips of his fingers when Courfeyrac released him. “You’ve got a lovely personality. The best we’ve got.”

“No, you’ve got the loveliest personality in our group, I promise.” Courfeyrac backed Jehan into the corner and nosed along his jawline. “You’re my favorite.”

“I certainly hope so,” Jehan laughed, tipping his head back as Courfeyrac ran his lips down the poet’s neck. Jehan shivered and grabbed at Courfeyrac’s hair, the grin falling from his lips as he buried his face in Courfeyrac’s neck. “We can’t have sex here.”

“Why not?” Courfeyrac mumbled as he kissed his way up to Jehan’s ear. The poet sighed.

“Because there’s people all over the place, and Enjolras will kill you if we try that here,” Jehan offered. Courfeyrac pulled back slightly.

“Why only me?” Courfeyrac asked. He tried to frown, but he smiled despite himself.

“Because he could never bring himself to kill me,” Jehan answered. He smiled back at Courfeyrac, who just nodded in agreement.

“You’re right.” Courfeyrac looked over his shoulder. “Speaking of which, where is he?”

“Good question.” Jehan began to move away from the corner, but Courfeyrac grabbed him by the hips and secured him before he could. “We have to find him, Courf.”

“He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself,” Courfeyrac murmured quietly, leaning in to give Jehan a deep kiss. The poet ignored the fact that he knew they had to stop, and pushed closer, pressing their hips together and getting their tongues involved. A hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder pulled them apart.

“We’re leaving now,” Musichetta informed them both. Courfeyrac leaned away and grabbed two cupcakes off the snack table beside them before turning around.

“Then let’s go.” Courfeyrac grinning when Jehan leaned up onto his toes to take a bite of one of the cupcakes in Courfeyrac’s hand.

“Just a warning, it’s going to be an awkward car ride,” Musichetta said over her shoulder, leading the two boys outside.

“Why?” Jehan asked. His steps faltered when he noticed the tense group of well-dressed, red-faced people standing around the van, waiting for Joly and Bossuet to stop making out against the passenger side door.

“Is everyone alright here?” Courfeyrac demanded loudly. At least three people jumped, Enjolras among them. Grantaire looked faintly amused. Joly broke away from Bossuet and smiled when Musichetta ran a hand across his shoulders.

“Yes, fine,” Bossuet answered in his deep voice. “Let’s go.”

“Where are Feuilly and Bahorel?” Jehan peered around the van and frowned. “Did you lose them?”

Grantaire snorted. “They lost us. They went home with those twin ginger midgets.”

“They were just short and redheaded,” Combeferre corrected. Grantaire shrugged.

“You say potato,” Grantaire murmured, stealing a glance at Enjolras, who was steadfastly not looking at anyone.

“We’re going home now!” Joly announced, motioning to the van and climbing in the driver’s seat. Everyone piled in quietly, sitting in random seats and not talking to one another. Combeferre turned around now and then to meet Eponine’s eyes; he would then turn away and take a deep breath. Bossuet was running his hand over Joly’s arm now and then, and Musichetta was sending them both sharp glances when she caught it. Marius was staring at his phone, his face firetruck-red. Enjolras was sitting in the very back, legs crossed, and his eyes were fixed on the back of Grantaire’s head. Jehan had basically climbed into Courfeyrac’s lap the second they had got in the car, the only couple that was not pretending to be distant.

Everyone was out of the car the second Joly pulled into their driveway. Marius was out first, despite being seated between Eponine and Enjolras in the back row, and he was in the living room before Bossuet could blink.

“Where’re Alfie and Gavroche?” Marius demanded. Cosette was folded up on the sofa under a blanket; at his words, she looked up from her phone with wide eyes.

“They’re asleep, they have been for an hour,” Cosette answered. Her innocent expression was a little too dramatic, and Marius growled before heaving her up into his arms and disappearing up the stairs. Grantaire watched with amusement before Enjolras grabbed him by the necktie and pulled him upstairs after them. The artist grinned and waved at his friends before vanishing into the stairwell. Jehan just shoved Courfeyrac towards the den, and the two of them were gone. Combeferre turned to Joly.

“You will tell no one about this,” Combeferre stated - an order, not a request. Joly nodded and watched with an amused expression on his face as Combeferre all but dragged Eponine up the stairs. When he turned back to Bossuet and Musichetta, he found them already making out against the door.

“You started without me,” Joly teased. Musichetta reached out and hooked her fingers in his collar. “House rules, we can’t in the living room.”

“Our room is on the third floor,” Bossuet pointed out. Musichetta looked back out the still-open front door.

“We still have your van,” Musichetta reminded them slowly. Joly raised an eyebrow at her, but Bossuet was yanking them both out the door before he could speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I still can't write smut for you guys. This is kind of close, right? Close enough, I guess. I hope you enjoyed this chapter; I knew it took me a while to get it out, because life hits hard randomly. You know? Anyways, enjoy.
> 
> Also, I feel that it's worth mentioning that, while I clearly have a bunch of ships in this fandom, e/R is my OTP here, so they're often going to be more present than others. I am sorry about that, and I do include the others as much as I can, because I love them all - I mean, how do you not love, for instance, the lovely Jehan? - but just a heads-up that that's the way my cookie crumbles here. If you seriously love a pairing, just let me know, tell me, and I'll slip you in a chapter with just the two of them, so it's fair.


	21. The One Where Grantaire Takes Control Of Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire gets temporary tattoos, Enjolras gets pizza, there is much observation, and Courfeyrac is always hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra requested "a whole E/R chapter". In order to set up for the next chapter, I needed to shove in a little bit of Courf and Jehan, but this is about 95% E/R. 
> 
> Just so you know, my headcanon seriously is all the actors from the movie. A good portion of this happened because I'm too in love with George and Aaron. Explanations in the end notes.

Enjolras was thoroughly engrossed in reading through a stack of documents on his desk when a hand suddenly stole his pen right from his fingers. He blinked, the words disappearing from his vision as his eyes followed the ink-stained hand up to the arm up to the shoulder that seemed to be attached to the rest of Grantaire. He furrowed his brow.

“What do you need?” Enjolras asked, reaching to take his pen back. Grantaire lifted it out of his reach and tossed it onto their bed before the blond could reach it. Enjolras scowled.

“I’ve come to take care of you, since nobody has seen you in _days_.” Grantaire ran a hand through Enjolras’ messy hair. “It was either me or Courfeyrac, and I got the job by default because Jehan got some new apple soap or some other such nonsense and Courf was immediately distracted.”

“You wanted the job,” Enjolras grumbled. Grantaire let his fingers trickle down to Enjolras’ jawline; he touched the stubble there gently.

“You need to shave, shower, change your clothes, eat, and sleep,” Grantaire listed, tipping Enjolras’ head back. “The work will still be there tomorrow.”

“The protest is in two days,” Enjolras argued tiredly. Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“And you’ve been working hard on it for six. You can afford a break.” Grantaire pressed his lips to Enjolras’ forehead. “Isn’t your back stiff from your damn desk chair?”

Now that he mentioned it, it was, but Enjolras was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s wrist so that he could look at his hand and forearm.

“Did you get new tattoos?” Enjolras asked, frowning. He likes to think he would have known of something like that. Fortunately, Grantaire laughed.

“No. I was just feeling kind of down, and Jehan started writing on me,” Grantaire explained. Enjolras twisted his head slightly to read the words wrapping around Grantaire’s pale skin in spirals.

“‘First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you,’” Enjolras read. He looked up at Grantaire. “That’s a bit misleading.”

“It’s meant to remind me of the dangers of it all, you know.” Grantaire shrugged. “It’s Fitzgerald, so I let this one go.”

Enjolras’ eyes lingered on Grantaire’s face for a moment before he stood and pulled Grantaire’s sweater off over his head. His focus fell back down to the words, which seemed to trail all the way up to his shoulder blades, across the top of his back, and down the other arm.

“Jehan got bored,” Grantaire informed him when he felt Enjolras’ light touches on the words Sharpied into his skin. “You know how he gets about Fitzgerald.”

“I thought it was Dickinson,” Enjolras murmured. Grantaire shrugged, moving the words on his shoulder blades.

“He changes his mind every day,” Grantaire reminded him. Enjolras hummed and pulled Grantaire’s undershirt off for him; Grantaire stiffened instinctively. Enjolras read on anyways.

“‘Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy.’ ‘Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat.’ ‘Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.’” Enjolras rested his forehead against Grantaire’s shoulder, his fingertips skimming the white skin of Grantaire’s back, where some of his real tattoos were. He shut his eyes, suddenly aware of how exhausted he was, and Grantaire started slightly when Enjolras’ full weight was pressed into his back.

“Hey, there,” Grantaire murmured, turning around and letting Enjolras lean against his front, eyes shut heavily. “Why don’t you sleep first, then?”

“I can get behind that,” Enjolras mumbled into the dip below Grantaire’s neck. The artist maneuvered Enjolras out of his clothes and into the bed, pulling the blanket up around him and flicking their lights off. Enjolras made a dissatisfied noise and reached out; Grantaire bit back a smile before he stripped his own clothes off and slipped into Enjolras’ arms. The blond was asleep almost instantly, leaving Grantaire alone in the slightly darkened room. The attic only had one small, round window, and, as the sun set, it offered little sunlight. It offered enough, however, that Enjolras was still visible, and Grantaire took the opportunity to simply observe.

Enjolras had fussed with the blanket a bit in the face of the warmth of the summer night, so it was currently draped right across his hips, covering his legs. From his current vantage point, Grantaire could see the way his hips jutted out sharply, and the muscle that rose and left small, thin shadows on his sides. The trail of hair leading from his belly button into the blanket was white-blonde, much like the stubble on his jaw. Grantaire let his eyes trace over the muscles of Enjolras’ chest and arms - the left one bent behind his head, the right one, encased in its cast, tucked under Grantaire’s head - and the smooth, unmarked expanse of perfect skin. He felt the sudden urge to mark it, and he swallowed down the temptation, turning his bright blue eyes to Enjolras’ face. His head was turned to the side, his cheek pressed into the pillow, his hair a halo around his head. His lips were curved like Apollo’s bow, his cheeks pink against the light tan of the rest of his skin. The barest hints of dusky red sunlight are filtering in, coloring his blonde hair in amber shadows. Grantaire edged a little closer, removing his head from its awkward position on top of Enjolras’ cast, and buried his face in Enjolras’ hair; he peered out of the curls after a long moment and discovered Enjolras’ jawline inches from his eyes. It was sharp, defined, and dusted with blonde stubble from his week of forgetting to shave. Grantaire was in the same boat, he knew, but it looked better on Enjolras.

Grantaire sighed and shut his eyes, unable to stay awake any longer, despite wanting to continue watching Enjolras just sleep peacefully.

* * *

Enjolras awoke at an odd hour. He could tell because of the angle the sunlight was coming in the window, and by the fact that there was sunlight at all - he was often up before the sun had begun rising. He realized he was not tired anymore; he must have slept a terribly long time. He also realized he could not move his right arm, since it was trapped under Grantaire, who was still fast asleep and curled up against Enjolras’ side. Enjolras turned his head slightly and was met with Grantaire’s closed eyes. He suddenly longed to see them open, but he shoved the desire away, knowing Grantaire definitely did not sleep any more than he did. He blinked tiredly and let his eyes skim across Grantaire’s features - his perfectly straight nose, his smiling, curved, pink lips, his black stubble - before relaxing again. He took comfort in the fact that Grantaire’s pale skin had a pink tint to it again, something it had been sadly lacking in the past week. He ran his eyes over Grantaire’s white, tattooed, scarred body before pressing his face into the artist’s jaw, giving up on caring about whether or not he woke up. He started biting at the shadowed skin, which made Grantaire’s eyes shoot open.

“Jesus, warn a guy,” Grantaire mumbled groggily, turning his head to catch Enjolras’ lips. The blond hummed and kissed him back slowly.

“I think it’s better this way,” Enjolras replied softly. “I get to be in charge.”

“You’re always in charge,” Grantaire reminded him. Enjolras shrugged and climbed on top of Grantaire; the artist lifted himself up, freeing Enjolras’ arm. The blond pinned Grantaire’s wrists above his head in one hand.

“But this way, you can’t fight me for it.” Enjolras dropped his head down to bite at Grantaire’s neck quietly. Grantaire groaned and pushed his hips upwards, seeking friction.

“This is why _I_ think it’s better,” Grantaire managed to get out, tugging at his hands desperately. Enjolras just tightened his grip and moved his head.

“Why’s that?” Enjolras asked, sounding genuinely curious and much more composed than Grantaire was.

“Because you’re free of everything you think you have to be,” Grantaire explained. Enjolras lifted his head and met Grantaire’s lust-dark eyes. Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, but Grantaire lifted his head and claimed the blond’s lips as his own. Enjolras immediately forgot his response and bit at Grantaire’s lips. The artist laughed when Enjolras’ stomach growled.

“We only accomplished sleep. You still need to eat and shower.” Grantaire rubbed at his neck. “And shave.”

Enjolras pressed his lips to the stubble burn and the fresh bite on Grantaire’s neck before pushing himself off of Grantaire and the bed. The artist stood, stretched his hands above his head, and went looking for clothes for them to wear.

“Food first,” Enjolras informed him as Grantaire handed him a pair of red pajama pants. Grantaire nodded and tugged on a pair of green pajama pants that were either his or Enjolras’, but neither of them remembered anymore.

“As you wish.” Grantaire slammed the door shut when Enjolras began to open it; he left his hand pressed there, and he leaned closer to the blond. He bit his lip for a split second before he pressed Enjolras into the door and caught his lips. When he released him, Enjolras opened his eyes again and drew in a deep breath. “I love you.”

“If you really loved me, you’d feed me.” Enjolras nipped at Grantaire’s bottom lip, and the artist drew back, opening the door for him and ushering him down the stairs.

“It’s alive!” Courfeyrac cheered the moment they entered the kitchen, his Irish accent thicker than usual with sleep. Jehan smiled, but Enjolras glared, and Courfeyrac let out a low whistle. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. How long did Grantaire get you to sleep for?”

“He fell asleep around eight-thirty last night,” Grantaire informed them, his head lost in the freezer. Jehan pulled out Courfeyrac’s pocket watch as Grantaire resurfaced with a box of frozen pizza.

“It’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon,” Jehan laughed. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire, who just shrugged. Enjolras dropped into one of the empty kitchen chairs, watching as Jehan returned to scribbling with a Sharpie on a blue paint card.

“You needed the sleep.” Grantaire set about taking the pizza out of the box and sticking it in the oven. Once it was all set, he began making a sandwich. Enjolras motioned towards it, and Grantaire shrugged again. “Pizza’s for you. Sandwich is for me.”

“I don’t need a whole pizza,” Enjolras argued. Grantaire dropped a kiss on the top of his head as he passed by with a jar of peanut butter.

“The last time we got you to eat was two days ago. You need a whole pizza.” Courfeyrac leaned forward, his hands resting on the table; Jehan, still settled in Courfeyrac’s lap, bent forward with him, shoving the Sharpie between his teeth. Grantaire smiled to himself as he continued making his sandwich. “I think the protest is ready. Even Combeferre resurfaced about a day ago.”

“Did he get all the necessary permits?” Enjolras asked, perking up slightly. Grantaire hit him on the back on the head; Enjolras scowled at him.

“Yes, he did. Everything’s ready. Stop thinking about the protest for five minutes and eat.” Grantaire set the pizza down on a plate in front of him, and Courfeyrac immediately reached over to take a slice. Jehan smacked his hand.

“Let him eat, you animal. You just ate an hour ago,” Jehan scolded. Courfeyrac just leaned forward and kissed him, and all seemed to be forgotten in Jehan’s eyes as he kissed him back. Grantaire sat down with his sandwich and eyed them for a moment. As soon as Courfeyrac’s hand disappeared into Jehan’s sweater, Grantaire shook his head.

“Nope. Stop. Go to your room,” Grantaire instructed, pointing to the hallway. Courfeyrac shrugged, lifted Jehan up, and left with the poet tucked snugly in his arms.

“Get some rest for tomorrow!” Enjolras called after them. When he turned back, Grantaire had fixed him with a pointed look. When Enjolras just stared blankly at him, the artist motioned to the pizza.

“Eat, or I won’t be joining you in the shower,” Grantaire ordered. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him, but Grantaire refused to waver; the blonde just picked up a piece of pizza and started eating again. Grantaire nodded slightly before continuing to eat his sandwich.

“You’re bossy today,” Enjolras commented after a few moments of silence. Grantaire shrugged, keeping his eyes on his sandwich.

“I just want to make sure you’re ready for your protest,” Grantaire replied. Enjolras took a bite of his pizza and waited for him to continue, but all the brunette did was raise his head to look at Enjolras. “What are you looking at?”

“I love you, too.” Enjolras slid his empty plate out of the way, and Grantaire followed the movement with his eyes.

“I told you you were hungry,” was all Grantaire said before he took their plates to the sink. Enjolras stood, and Grantaire turned around almost automatically.

“You need to shower. And shave.” Grantaire’s hand twitched upwards, but he held it back. Enjolras pulled his hair out of its elastic and shook his head, running his fingers through it.

“Then let’s go shower and shave,” Enjolras urged, stepping closer and running his hands down Grantaire’s bare arms.

“I’ll wash off Jehan’s quotes,” Grantaire protested weakly. Enjolras looked over his shoulder before he leaned in and gave Grantaire a brief kiss.

“He’ll give you new ones.” Enjolras fidgeted slightly, his energy building up. “Come on. You need a shower just as much as me. Might as well not waste water.”

“Are you drunk?” Grantaire asked. He moved, and Enjolras followed him with his eyes. “You’re acting weird.”

“I haven’t seen you in a few days. Let me have this.” Enjolras grasped Grantaire’s wrist and dragged him to the bathroom. The artist stared blankly at him, but moved anyways.

“You definitely have an ulterior motive,” Grantaire stated plainly. Enjolras shut the bathroom door behind him and slammed Grantaire up against it.

“I need a stress release,” Enjolras murmured, his voice low in Grantaire’s ear. Grantaire nodded against Enjolras shoulder.

“Now, that sounds more like you.” Grantaire smiled slightly at Enjolras before his pants were tugged off and he was dragged into the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I owe you all explanations.
> 
> This all takes place in a small town in Massachusetts, but a few of them have come from all over. Also, basically picture them all as their movie canon selves.
> 
> Grantaire moved to Massachusetts from Paris when he was relatively young, but he still has a thick-ish French accent, because why not, George could pull that off.
> 
> Enjolras and Combeferre were born and raised in Montreal - Courfeyrac was born and lived in Ireland until he was about five (because who can resist Fra's accent?), when his French mother stole him from his abusive Irish father and fled to Canada, where he met Enjolras and Combeferre, and the three of them grew up together.
> 
> Eponine and Gavroche (and a couple other siblings that left them behind) got bounced around from foster home to foster home until they were placed in a semi-permanent one in Massachusetts during Eponine's freshman year of high school, where she met Marius.
> 
> Jehan and Joly grew up together in Maine, coming down to Massachusetts together for university.
> 
> Bahorel grew up in Boston, and he met Feuilly when they were paired together as roommates in university.
> 
> Feuilly grew up in one of the smaller cities of Massachusetts in a boy's home, and he was able to get enough scholarships to come to university.
> 
> Cosette had been in one of Eponine's foster homes as a child before she was adopted by an old friend of her mother's, Jean Valjean, who took her to New Hampshire; Cosette moved to go to university in Massachusetts.
> 
> Bossuet used to live in Seattle, but he wanted to get as far away as he could once he graduated high school, so he moved to Massachusetts, where he met Joly during student orientation when Jehan spotted him and insisted he sit with them, since Bossuet looked lost.
> 
> Musichetta lived in Boston until she was 17, when she dropped out of school and started the Musain in an attempt to get enough money to pay for her mother's hospital bills. Her mother died when she was 19, but Musichetta keeps the Musain up because she doesn't know what else to do.
> 
> If you want to know any more about anyone's back story in this 'verse, just ask. I'd be happy to help.


	22. The One Where Jehan Takes One For The Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jehan is claimed by the other side, Courfeyrac has a meltdown in the street and in his car, paint cards are used, and Ginsberg is well-loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avery informed me that "Jehan/Courf is like the ship to end all ships (apart from e/R) though basically Jehan/anyone can do it for me cuz why not, right?"
> 
> Why not, indeed, Avery. However, Jehan/Courf is the ship that sails here, so Jehan/Courf is what ye shall receive.
> 
> In case you don't recognize it, this is based on Jehan's death in Victor Hugo's novel. If you're looking to be an absolute sobbing mess in under sixty seconds, read Jehan's canon death. You won't be disappointed. Luckily, I love Jehan too much to kill him, and the majority of this chapter is just fluff.
> 
> Congrats to us all - two chapters in one night!

Courfeyrac could not, in the entirety of his life, remember being so afraid as he was at the protest that warm July day. The thing was, the day had started out normally enough.

Courfeyrac had awoken to a warm weight settling on his chest, and he opened to his eyes to find Jehan smiling down at him, his hair hanging down to create a curly, strawberry-blonde wall around their faces. Jehan had leaned down and whispered his greetings against Courfeyrac’s lips before kissing him. Courfeyrac had grabbed Jehan by the shoulders and pulled him closer until their bodies met completely, lining up together, even though Courfeyrac was taller. Jehan had moaned, and the sound falling from Jehan’s sweet, cherry blossom-pink lips made Courfeyrac immediately grip Jehan’s hips and begin pushing his own hips up into him. Jehan had grinned devilishly and taken them both in one hand, stroking them together until they reached their release together - in soft moans, in Jehan’s case, and in aborted shouts, in Courfeyrac’s case. Courfeyrac had lounged tiredly after that, stretching out languidly like a cat, and he grabbed the paint card that Jehan had given him the day before. It was a gently faded blue - or, rather, corsair, as the top right-hand corner declared - paint card, with Jehan’s embellished handwriting all over it.

He read it over again while Jehan leaned back to lick his hand clean, and the look on Courfeyrac’s face when he lowered the paint card initiated a second round in which Jehan tackled Courfeyrac flat down onto the bed. The paint card was forgotten in the half-an-hour they did not have to waste, but wasted anyways, during which Jehan rode Courfeyrac, prolonging it for so long that Eponine started banging on their door, begging them to be quiet. Jehan had giggled, and that had been the end of it for Courfeyrac.

Jehan had ushered them out of bed and into the shower before Courfeyrac’s vision had completely returned, and he had washed Courfeyrac for him, since the brunette kept trying to bite at Jehan’s fair, freckled skin. Courfeyrac had been content to let Jehan drag him around, prepping them for the protest that began at noon; he just stared stupidly at the poet as they dressed, as they ate, as Jehan gave Cosette, Eponine, Gavroche, and Alphonse all kisses goodbye before they left. He watched as Jehan slipped off his engagement ring and gave it to Cosette for safe-keeping; he never wore it to protests or anything that might become chaotic, because he was paranoid about losing it. Courfeyrac had kissed Jehan’s palm and dragged him out to his shitty little car that Jehan loved to make out in, telling Jehan to text Enjolras and inform him that they had just left, and they were the last ones.

They had made it to the site of the protest - a government building in Boston, where Enjolras and Marius were standing at the top of the stairs and waving pamphlets around. Grantaire had been off to the side, talking to a small, distinctly French-looking woman. The rest of their group was interspersed in the crowd that was made of partially of them, partially of members of the Boston branch of Amnesty International, partially of people who had heard and wanted to participate, and partially of passersby who got caught up in Enjolras’ enthusiasm. Courfeyrac had taken note of the counter-protesters across the street, sizing them up a bit, but this was a peaceful protest, they had all the proper permits, and they had no reason to be afraid.

Courfeyrac had separated from Jehan, as they were supposed to do, dividing and conquering in the crowd. Courfeyrac was trying to persuade a young man to stay and join the protest when he first heard the shouting. He had turned around and caught sight of a furious, red-faced man crossing into the street, shouting obscenities at them. He had stared when Jehan was the one who emerged, having been at the edge of their crowd, and raised his hands, palms out, trying to keep the man calm. A few other men had come forward, backing up the angry man, but Jehan had waved off the people who came from their side, his worried face plainly saying that he wanted them to keep out of danger. Courfeyrac was trying to fight his way through the crowd, but Combeferre was grabbing at him, holding him back, keeping him out of trouble.

Courfeyrac remembered that Jehan had been saying something in a low voice that he could not hear, but, in the next second, Jehan had been grabbed by the five men and pulled over into their crowd. Courfeyrac had begun shouting, dragging Combeferre with him into the street, noting in the corner of his eye that Enjolras had sprung forward, a bright flash of red shouting at the police to _do something, damn it, they were peaceful protesters and they hadn’t done anything wrong_ , and everything began to fall into chaos.

People were running all over the place, yelling at the opposite side, with Enjolras in the middle of it, trying to separate the two sides and bring the peace back. His face was full of rage, and Grantaire was behind him in seconds, shouting in his ear to calm down. Enjolras shooed him away and moved further into the crowd, but Grantaire just followed after him. Courfeyrac was searching for Jehan, trying to find him on the opposite side.

There was a heavy banging, which caused most people to be quiet and calm down slightly, and then Jehan’s voice was shouting something that Courfeyrac could not make out in the haze he had entered since Jehan had gone into the street. A gunshot had silenced the entire crowd, and everyone froze, Courfeyrac included. Combeferre caught him when his knees buckled, and Courfeyrac fell onto the hot paved street, his ears ringing. Combeferre was murmuring in his ear, but he was deaf to his friend, and to the rest of the world. He was vaguely aware of Enjolras screaming, and of policemen shouting, and of his world falling down around him.

And that brought him to where he was now, and where he was now was the middle of the densely crowded street, on his knees, his face buried in Combeferre’s arm. He could never remember a time where he had been so frightened, where his world was collapsing so quickly. He shuddered, and Combeferre’s grip on him tightened. He slowly began coming back to the world when he recognized Combeferre wrapped around him, and he was aware that his friend was telling him to calm down. It was then that he realized he was screaming. Joly was knelt in front of him, his grip on Courfeyrac’s wrist tight as he spoke. Courfeyrac tried to focus.

“-it’s okay, Courfeyrac, he’s fine,” Joly was saying, shaking Courfeyrac by his shoulder. Courfeyrac’s focus zeroed in on the doctor, and he lurched out of Combeferre’s arms, grabbing at the medical student, whose eyes widened in surprise.

“He’s fine?” Courfeyrac repeated. Joly smiled at him, all teeth and joy, and nodded. Courfeyrac struggled to stand up; Combeferre dragged him up, holding onto him tightly, and Joly grabbed him by the forearm and tugged him through the crowd. He would later swear that the moment he laid eyes on Jehan, the birds began singing and the sun shined only on him, but Jehan suspected that was only for his benefit.

In the moment, however, Courfeyrac was not entirely paying attention to his surroundings. He pulled away from Combeferre and Joly and sprinted forward, pulling Jehan into his arms as tightly as he could. He held him close, savoring the feel of him in his arms, the solid warmth of his little poet. Jehan buried his face in Courfeyrac’s neck, and Courfeyrac did the same, hiding his face in Jehan’s freckled neck and inhaling the sweet, flowery, cinnamon-and-apple scent of him. Jehan was shaking, Courfeyrac realized, but he was no better off, and he let Jehan fall into his lap when they both sank to the ground.

“I love you,” Jehan whispered into his ear. Courfeyrac tightened his grip and dropped his head down to Jehan’s chest, craning his neck so that he could listen to the poet’s heartbeat.

“I love you so much.” Courfeyrac took a deep, steadying breath before he lifted his head again. He scanned Jehan’s white face, all the blood drained from it in fear, making his freckles stand out more than usual. “We’re going home.”

Jehan nodded jerkily, and Courfeyrac scooped him up and stood, seeking out Enjolras. His blond friend has touched a hand to Jehan’s hair before kissing his forehead and sending them home, promising he would bring everyone else along shortly, once everything was wrapped up. Jehan, true to form, told him to take his time and not worry. That earned a smile from Enjolras that Courfeyrac had not seen the particular likes of since they were younger, and he kissed Jehan’s forehead again before disappearing into the crowd. Grantaire pressed a kiss to Jehan’s lips before jogging off in pursuit of Enjolras. Jehan turned his head, burying his face in Courfeyrac’s chest and gripping the brunette’s t-shirt tightly. Courfeyrac carried him back to his car, tucked him into the passenger seat, buckled him in, and made it to the driver’s seat before he broke down.

Jehan climbed into his lap and held him through the whole affair. He reached over and shut the driver’s side door, and settled into Courfeyrac’s lap. About halfway through, Courfeyrac began grabbing at him, and Jehan allowed it, pressing kisses into Courfeyrac’s mouth over and over like they were necessary to live. Once the brunette had calmed down enough to see and breathe, Jehan had pulled his head back slightly and pressed their foreheads together.

“Are you okay?” Courfeyrac asked, his voice smaller than Jehan had ever heard it. He nodded and fisted his hands in Courfeyrac’s damp t-shirt.

“Are you?” Jehan asked in return, nuzzling into Courfeyrac’s neck. Courfeyrac took a shaky breath.

“Now I am,” Courfeyrac assured him, pressing a kiss to the top of his curly hair. “I’ll drive us home if you sit in your seat.”

“Let me stay here,” Jehan insisted softly. Courfeyrac shook his head and separated them.

“I’m not letting you get into any more dangerous situations today.” Courfeyrac ended his statement with a brief kiss before he let Jehan maneuver back into the passenger seat. He started the car and drove in silence for a few moments before he glanced at Jehan. “How long was that?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Jehan informed him, his voice quiet. Courfeyrac laughed tearfully.

“Seems about right,” Courfeyrac said. His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, and Jehan fell silent again until they pulled in at their home. Courfeyrac shifted in his seat and pulled something out of the pocket of his shorts. “I grabbed a green stalk card for you, you seemed to like that color best. Sorry about the doodles and stuff, I got distracted.”

Jehan smiled and took the card, reading it over. The pink blush began returning to his face, like rose petals fluttering onto the surface of a pond. He lifted his head to look at Courfeyrac.

“I love you, too.” Jehan smiled before turning back to the card. A small frown twisted his lips down, and Courfeyrac’s heart clenched. “What are you sorry about?”

Courfeyrac craned his neck to look at the card. “You know, I don’t remember.”

Jehan laughed and took Courfeyrac’s jaw in one hand, kissing him as deeply as he could manage across the console. Eventually, the little poet pulled back with a nip at his fiancee’s lips.

“My ear is still ringing,” Jehan whispered, giggling. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow at him, and Jehan raised a hand to demonstrate something flying past his head. “I moved, bullet went right past me. Faster than a speeding bullet-”

“Stop,” Courfeyrac ordered, cutting him off. Jehan swallowed his words. “I don’t...”

“I understand,” Jehan said gently, kissing Courfeyrac’s cheek and climbing out of the car. “I’ll try joking about it again tomorrow.”

“Good luck,” Courfeyrac grumbled as he unfolded his long frame from his car and locked the vehicle behind him. He let Jehan pull him into the house, past the groups of people. Gavroche was bouncing around Marius and Feuilly, demanding to know what had happened while Eponine and Cosette were desperately trying to get Alphonse to fall asleep. Bahorel and Musichetta were passing out mugs of coffee. Joly was beginning to stitch up a cut on Bossuet’s arm that he had been just unlucky enough to catch. Grantaire was sat on the sofa, Enjolras at his side, wincing as Combeferre stitched up a hole over Grantaire’s left-side collarbone. Enjolras looked vaguely guilty, and his eyes were focused on Grantaire’s hand in his. Enjolras nodded in their vague direction, as did most of the room; Eponine gave them a little wave, and Grantaire smiled at them as they passed. Jehan looked like he wanted to burst into tears, so Courfeyrac just continued up the stairs to their room, pulling Jehan along with him.

Once they were stripped of their clothes and tucked safe under their blanket, Jehan snuggled into Courfeyrac’s side like a particularly affectionate kitten. Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around him and was content to hold him close, keeping him safe right there.

“We’re never leaving this bed again,” Courfeyrac mumbled into Jehan’s long, loose curls of hair. The poet nodded and wriggled closer.

“I am in complete agreement with you.” Jehan pressed a kiss to the underside of Courfeyrac’s jaw. “You like Ginsberg, then?”

“I liked reading him when I was learning poetry to impress you,” Courfeyrac informed him. Jehan hummed slightly and was silent for a moment.

“‘She moves in thought she cannot speak. Perfect care has made her bleak. I never dreamed the sea so deep, the earth so dark, so long my sleep,’” Jehan recited in his low, masculine voice. Courfeyrac pressed a kiss to his forehead. “‘I have become another child-’”

“‘-I wake to see the world go wild,’” Courfeyrac finished. Jehan grinned.

“You remembered,” Jehan exclaimed softly. Courfeyrac shut his eyes and settled deeper into their embrace.

“Ginsberg, man,” was all Courfeyrac offered as an explanation. If Jehan wrote _“Don’t drink yourself to death.”_ on Grantaire’s calf the next day, no one would be the wiser. Courfeyrac would take note of the source, however, and Jehan would get tugged into the bathroom for a particularly enjoyable shower experience. Courfeyrac still did not let Jehan out of his sight, though, and everyone understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter!
> 
> The cards, in order, say:  
> "Courfeyrac-  
> "There is a gentle  
> thought that often  
> springs to life  
> in me, because  
> it speaks of you."  
> <3 Jean Prouvaire"
> 
> "Jehan-  
> "I speak of  
> love that  
> comes to mind:  
> the moon is faithful,  
> although blind;"  
> I know Ginsberg's not  
> your fave, but he's  
> badass.  
> Also, this  
> is still  
> your fave  
> color, right?  
> I'm sorry.  
> <3 Courfeyrac"
> 
> The poem is Jehan's note to Courf is "There is a Gentle Thought" by Dante, because, in canon, Jehan was fluent in Italian so he could read Dante. The poem in Courf's note to Jehan, as well as the poem Jehan recites - and Courf finishes - is "An Eastern Ballad", by Allen Ginsberg - a personal favorite of mine. The line written on Grantaire's calf is from Allen Ginsberg's "Cosmopolitan Greetings", from which the title of this story is also derived.
> 
> I stole the paint cards from WalMart this afternoon after I tried to convince a confused employee to give me their Les Mis display. I thought Jehan and Courf would like the colors, and they're probably all hipsters, so why not? Neither of the sets of handwriting are truly mine, though I wrote them; I tried to disguise all the hints of me as best as I could. I failed, I think, but none of you know what my handwriting looks like, so.


	23. The One Where Courfeyrac Stages An Easter Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Courfeyrac wears bunny ears, Jehan wears pastel colors (shocker), Gavroche gets an egg hunt, and it is way too early for any of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a gift for Pandalianxx.

_March 31, 2013_

Jehan rolled over in bed and grabbed at the sheets where Courfeyrac ought to have been. Frowning, he lifted his head and scrubbed at his face with one hand, searching for his fiancee and finding nothing but an empty bed. He sighed and sat up, and, in doing so, discovered Courfeyrac, standing at the edge of their bed, getting dressed in lovely pastel colors. Jehan smiled at him and rubbed the heel of his hand into one eye.

“Good morning,” Jehan murmured sleepily. Courfeyrac looked up from the light green bowtie he was tying around his neck and smiled back.

“Happy Easter,” Courfeyrac replied, far too eager for the early hour. Jehan reached his hands out, and Courfeyrac obliged, hopping onto the bed and crawling up to embrace Jehan and give him a kiss. “You’ll have to get up, I’m afraid.”

“Why’s that?” Jehan asked into Courfeyrac’s mouth. The brunette hummed and pulled back slightly.

“Because you’ve got eggs to find!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, a little too loud for their proximity. Jehan leaned back a little, but still allowed Courfeyrac to drag him out of the bed and tug a patchwork pastel sweater over his head and soft purple pants up his legs.

“What time is it?” Jehan mumbled into Courfeyrac’s shoulder, gazing blearily out the dark window. “How late were we up?”

“It’s 5:00. I suspect you fell asleep after I did, so I don’t know how late you were up,” Courfeyrac answered, tying his yellow bowtie around Jehan’s neck.

“Why so early?” Jehan asked, his brow furrowing as Courfeyrac inspected their clothing.

“So Gavroche can’t beat you to the punch,” Courfeyrac joked, pressing a brief kiss to Jehan’s tired, pink lips. Jehan tried to follow him when he moved, but Courfeyrac just laughed and grabbed his hand to pull him along. “I’ll help you, don’t worry.”

Jehan woke up a little bit more when Courfeyrac stopped at their shared bureau to grab a pair of bunny ears attached to a headband; he laughed and squeezed Courfeyrac’s hand, since Courfeyrac seemed determined not to be distracted from their egg hunt by kisses.

The egg hunt was not so much a hunt as it was a trail of plastic eggs that led down the stairs and into the den. Jehan and Courfeyrac gathered them as they went and locked the door to the den behind them before they divided the Skittles and the M&Ms in the eggs between them. Jehan scrambled over to the sofa and pulled a chocolate bunny out from where it was hidden under one of the cushions before handing it over to Courfeyrac as a gift. Courfeyrac smiled and handed Jehan a bright yellow notebook, which Jehan grinned over and thanked him for.

“Open it, it gets better,” Courfeyrac urged. Jehan raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told. The center of the notebook had been hollowed out and filled with gummy bears. “See? You can still flip the pages and write on them, but you can hide things, too.”

“And eat gummy bears,” Jehan added, smiling. Courfeyrac nodded and stole one of the gummies.

“Yes, and eat gummy bears,” Courfeyrac amended. They sat on the floor eating in silence for a bit before Jehan got fed up with it and tackled Courfeyrac to the ground.

“Happy Easter,” Jehan murmured against Courfeyrac’s lips. The brunette grinned, and Jehan took the opportunity to lick into his mouth, delighted to find that he tasted like candy. The little poet found himself flipped onto the floor in moments.

“I have to set up Gavroche’s egg hunt, since it’s a real hunt,” Courfeyrac whispered. Jehan frowned and lifted his head to reach Courfeyrac’s lips, but found himself disappointed when Courfeyrac sat up, his knees on other side of Jehan’s hips as he straightened out his back. “You can help me.”

“Of course I will,” Jehan answered at once. Courfeyrac stood and helped Jehan up, and they left the den together, beginning to hide a second bag of candy-filled eggs for Gavroche. Jehan took a break to braid his long hair, weaving ribbons and flowers into it as he went with the skilled fingers of someone who had done that time and time again. Of course, he had to do it twice again after that, because Courfeyrac kept coming over and running his hands through it, but the poet did not very much mind.

Grantaire woke up early, tripping down the stairs and barely giving Courfeyrac and Jehan a second glance as he continued into the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. Combeferre appeared not too long after, and it was basically just a chain of people after that. Gavroche finally appeared, and Courfeyrac swung the boy onto his shoulders and helped him start his hunt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My name on tumblr is andillwriteyouatragedy - send me a message or tag me (showmeahero, stay irresponsible, or andillwriteyouatragedy) if you have anything you want to say or send to me!
> 
> YES, it was supposed to be short and lacking plot - it's an interlude! I hope you all enjoyed it and remembered me.
> 
> The next chapter will return to the normal timeline.
> 
> Happy Easter!


	24. The One Where Atari 2600s Still Exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bahorel is Paul Bunyan, Feuilly sucks at the ice race, there is an operating Atari 2600 still in existence, and nobody fits on the loveseat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written_in_the_dark sent me a prompt for "Platonic Feuilly and Bahorel bro time, possibly with vintage video games and jokes about Bahorel resembling a lumberjack." It's a bit short, but I actually did do research for their video game and changed it like 8 different times and then spent some time thinking about Wreck-It Ralph so there's that.
> 
> Enjoy, written_in_the_dark! And, you know, everyone else.

Bahorel had been so wrapped up in the movie they were watching - _Inglourious Basterds_ \- that he did not notice the room had fallen silent. He looked to his left and found Feuilly curled into his side, head tucked into Bahorel’s neck as he slept. On his right was Eponine, also fast asleep, pressed against his side, his arm around her shoulders. Grantaire had his head in Eponine’s lap and his legs stretched off the edge of the loveseat they had all crammed themselves onto. Bahorel frowned and shook Feuilly’s thin shoulder with a large hand. Feuilly made a frustrated noise and lifted his tired, freckled face to glare groggily at Bahorel.

“What do you want?” Feuilly hissed. Bahorel jerked his head in Eponine’s direction. Feuilly peered across Bahorel’s lap and sat up at once. “They’re asleep.” Bahorel nodded eagerly.

“Indy 500,” they both said, at the same time. Bahorel shifted, letting Eponine slide onto Feuilly as he lifted Grantaire up. He had had to carry Grantaire before, yet he was still surprised at how light he always seemed to be. Feuilly heaved Eponine up and followed Bahorel, tucking them both into Grantaire’s bed in the attic before they flew back downstairs.

“How much time do we have before everyone else gets back?” Feuilly asked as he dug through the stack of Atari 2600 games until he found Indy 500. Bahorel pulled the controllers out from behind the TV and checked the clock over his head.

“We have an hour and a half,” Bahorel declared, shoving the controllers into the Atari 2600 and passing one of them to Feuilly. The two of them dragged the loveseat closer to the television and waited for the game to boot up.

“We’re not doing ice race!” Feuilly exclaimed as soon as Bahorel started flicking through the options. Bahorel shoved his slim friend to the side.

“We’re doing ice race. It’s easy, and it’s fun to watch you fuck up,” Bahorel laughed. Feuilly growled, but had no real say in the matter, since Bahorel had the first-player controller. He still chose ice race, much to Feuilly’s dismay.

“It’s easy for you because the outdoors is your natural habitat, you lumberjack,” Feuilly grumbled, focusing on trying not to swerve off the track. Bahorel smacked at his hands to distract him and throw him off the course. “Jesus, you play dirtier and dirtier every time.”

“I play for keeps, bitch!” Bahorel shouted as his car pushed Feuilly’s off the track. Feuilly threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Damnit!” Feuilly immediately tried to keep himself on the icy course once his car got replaced. “The people who made this game were sadistic bastards.”

“And probably dead now. This game was made in ‘77.” Bahorel jerked to the side as he shoved Feuilly off the course again. Feuilly chucked the controller to the ground and side-tackled Bahorel onto the loveseat.

“You’re like a fucking mountain man!” Feuilly screeched when Bahorel barely moved an inch. “You’re like Paul Bunyan.”

“That’s a new one,” Bahorel snorted, pulling Feuilly back with one hand by his collar while he paused the game with his other hand. “You alright?”

Feuilly grabbed at Bahorel and tugged him onto the floor, pinning him to the ground by his forearms. Bahorel just raised an eyebrow and shoved Feuilly back up onto the loveseat.

“Life’s just... heavy right now.” Feuilly stretched out on the loveseat, his long frame proving too long as his legs dangled off the end. Bahorel sat up and watched his small friend for a moment, deliberating.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bahorel asked hesitantly. Feuilly turned his head to the side, pressing his cheek into the cushion as he raised an eyebrow at Bahorel.

“Do _you_?” Feuilly asked incredulously. Bahorel shrugged. “I think I’m good. Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Want to keep playing?” Bahorel offered instead. Feuilly nodded and sat up, giving Bahorel his seat back. His muscular friend accepted the seat and took up their controllers again.

“We’re not doing ice race again,” Feuilly stated plainly. Bahorel grinned deviously and selected the same course. Feuilly punched him in the arm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this month of April, my updates may be a bit few and far between. You feel me? I've got Script Frenzy going on, plus school is narrowing down and I've got SATs and AP tests coming up, and I'm a volunteer, and I just got put on a committee, and and and and and. Life's heavy, man. My apologies for any slowing that might come of all this.
> 
> Also, check out some truly wonderful fanart by pandalianxx:
> 
> http://24.media.tumblr.com/c439cf6a78e8dc1fc3aedaefb3252487/tumblr_mkkxcyRBVX1qhnq8ko1_500.jpg
> 
> http://25.media.tumblr.com/b580aac14ef54a72c22b087ebdee6d2c/tumblr_mkl3iiQuP51qhnq8ko1_500.jpg


	25. The One Where Enjolras Might Be Too Aggressive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras and Grantaire are left to babysit, Alphonse is selective about who he likes to hear, Enjolras is certain he repels all children, and Grantaire is pretty chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea for this from the tumblr page imagineyourotp. The prompt was "Imagine your OTP with their first baby. S/he won’t stop crying no matter what person A does, but as soon as person A hands the baby to person B, s/he calms down." Obviously, this is a bit different than that, but it still holds true to the basics.

Grantaire dragged himself in from the kitchen, gripping a mug of black coffee in one paint-speckled hand. He stood in the opening between the hallway and the living room and simply observed Enjolras until the blonde finally noticed him. Enjolras stormed over, tucked Alphonse into his casted arm, and used his free hand to rip the headphones out of Grantaire’s ears.

“He is screaming,” Enjolras growled. Grantaire took a sip of his coffee.

“That’s why I had my headphones in,” Grantaire pointed out mildly. Enjolras’ face got a little redder.

“He won’t _stop_ screaming!” Enjolras shouted over the noise. Grantaire observed the baby’s face.

“Have you tried feeding him?” Grantaire asked, making a face at Alphonse, whose eyes were closed. Enjolras shot him an exhausted look.

“Yes, I’ve tried everything. Honestly. _Everything_.” Enjolras moved Alphonse so that he was in both arms, rather than just one. Grantaire raised an eyebrow and took another sip of coffee.

“You’re a terrible babysitter,” Grantaire commented. Enjolras scowled.

“You’re supposed to be helping, too,” Enjolras spat. Grantaire drained the last of his coffee and traded with Enjolras for Alphonse. Enjolras accepted the mug and the mp3 player and passed the baby off, looking relieved as he did so. Grantaire lifted Alphonse up so their faces were close.

“Hey, kiddo. What’s wrong?” Grantaire asked softly. Alphonse opened his eyes and made a sniffling noise before he stopped screaming. Enjolras glared at him.

“How did you do that?” Enjolras demanded, moving to look at the baby over Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire shrugged and tucked Alphonse against his chest.

“He likes the sound of my voice. Cosette and I found that out a couple weeks ago.” Grantaire bounced Alphonse as he spoke, and he laughed when the baby’s focus zeroed in on a tattoo of an imagine from the Borghese Vase on the left side of his chest. Enjolras frowned.

“What’s wrong with my voice?” Enjolras asked. Alphonse seemed to burrow further into Grantaire’s bare skin, seeking contact. Grantaire shifted to try to keep him comfortable.

“I don’t know. I like it enough, when you’re not using it to scream at me,” Grantaire teased. He got a dry look for his efforts. “Honestly, I don’t know why he likes it so much. He likes it when I sing to him, too. He falls asleep when I do. Why do you think Cosette’s always calling me down?”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “I didn’t really think about it.”

“I didn’t figure you would’ve.” Grantaire’s words sounded hurt, but his tone did not, so Enjolras let it slip by. “In any case, he just likes it. He doesn’t like Marius’ very much.”

Enjolras snorted unattractively, but Grantaire smiled anyways. He turned his attention back down to Alphonse, only to discover that he had fallen asleep. Enjolras rolled his eyes and kissed Grantaire’s bare shoulder out of habit before disappearing into the kitchen to put the mug in the dishwasher. Grantaire used the time to tuck Alphonse into his crib in the nursery before returning to the living room and throwing himself down on the sofa. Enjolras returned with two apples, one of which he tossed to Grantaire, who caught it with ease.

“Am I too aggressive?” Enjolras asked, mostly to himself. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him as he took a bite of his apple.

“Yes,” Grantaire answered simply. Enjolras glared at him for a moment before looking down at his apple.

“What if the...” Enjolras hesitated, thinking through his wording. “What if your kid doesn’t like me?”

“She’ll like you plenty,” Grantaire assured him absently, his attention diverted between Enjolras and his fruit. Enjolras made a dissatisfied noise, which caught Grantaire’s attention efficiently. “What is it?”

“Alfie doesn’t like me,” Enjolras stated plainly, his brow furrowing. Grantaire took another bite of his apple and waited for Enjolras to continue; eventually, he did. “What if it’s the same way with yours?”

“First of all, Alfie likes you fine. He’s a baby, he doesn’t care what you’re like. It’s just a freak thing that he likes how I sound.” Grantaire paused. “Hell, I don’t even like how I sound. It’s a fluke. He probably should care more about Marius, but, hey. He’s a baby, who gives a fuck?”

“...And second of all?” Enjolras prompted when Grantaire stopped talking. The artist raised his head in confusion before laughing.

“I don’t have a second of all. That’s about it. Babies don’t care about your personality. Don’t let it bug you.” Grantaire sprawled out on the sofa, letting his head fall into Enjolras’ lap. The blonde absently traced the words written in Sharpie and the tattoos inked onto Grantaire’s bare chest with his good hand, his apple lying forgotten on the sofa by his thigh.

“What’s this say?” Enjolras asked, pointing to a phrase permanent-marked across Grantaire’s stomach in Italian. Grantaire craned his neck to see which one was being asked. “It says ‘Che la forza sia con voi.’”

“That says ‘May the force be with you.’ in Italian. Courf made Jehan translate it and write it for him.” Grantaire let his head fall back down, biting at the remains of his apple until the core was left. Enjolras started running his fingers through Grantaire’s hair absently, without thinking of it. Grantaire smiled. “I thought of a second of all.”

“Mm?”

“Second of all, there’s no way my kid’s not going to like you. I mean, really. I promise.” Grantaire let his head roll slightly so that he could meet Enjolras’ eyes. “Alright?”

“Alright,” Enjolras agreed. Grantaire grinned and shut his eyes with a yawn. “Why are you so tired?”

“I stayed up late to paint,” Grantaire murmured, turning onto his stomach into his preferred sleeping position, burying his face in Enjolras’ lap. “It’s finished, though.”

“That’s good,” Enjolras murmured, continuing to run his hands through the artist’s hair. “What’s it of?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Grantaire mumbled. “Obviously it’s you.”

“Obviously,” Enjolras repeated, his voice low. Grantaire hummed slightly, and was asleep within minutes. Enjolras kept his hands moving through Grantaire’s hair. “At least you’ll fall asleep with me.”

Grantaire made a sighing noise in his sleep, and Enjolras shut his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we need a little fluff before the angst comes back into play.
> 
> Also, this is the vase mentioned for Grantaire's chest tattoo:  
> http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/2f/Borghese_Vase_Louvre_Ma86_n6.jpg/200px-Borghese_Vase_Louvre_Ma86_n6.jpg
> 
> I'm making all of his tattoos somehow attached to Greek mythology (Apollo specifically) because I'm a mythology nerd and there's always a lot of comparisons of Enjolras to Apollo, and Apollo was pretty neato, so, why not?
> 
> His tattoo is of Apollo and Dionysus together from the Borghese Vase, if you're curious. Underneath, he has the phrase "The Gods look after children and drunken men.", a phrase which often traditionally accompanies the image of Apollo and Dionysus rescuing Silenus. 
> 
> I have a whole headcanon for stuff like Grantaire's tattoos and Feuilly's past odd jobs and Jehan's notebooks and little stuff like that, so, if you're ever curious, go ahead and ask about it. I'd be more than happy to educate you on my incredibly delicate, toppling, Jenga-like headcanon.


	26. The One Where Courfeyrac Is Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Musichetta's honor is defended, Marius gets really nervous, Courfeyrac is spontaneously angry, and Jehan's got the eyes of a fighter.

Marius winced at the muffled sound of shouting voices voices shouting over his head. He looked down at Alphonse and covered the baby’s ears nervously, trying to ignore the hysterical, high-pitched edge that Jehan’s voice had taken on. He stared at the messily-painted walls of the den and involuntarily flinched when the door opened. Joly whispered an apology and shut the door behind him.

“They’re really going at it, huh?” Joly commented in a low voice. Marius nodded and passed Alphonse over to Joly.

“What are they even fighting about?” Marius asked. His voice strung with worry; he placed his palms firmly on his knees to try to stop his legs from bouncing with anxiety.

“Jehan got in a fight,” Joly answered, settling Alphonse in his lap. “Courf saw him and got pissed, and Jehan’s still mad from the fight, so they started yelling, and that’s where we’re at now.”

“How’d Jehan get into a fight?” Marius leaned forward and ran his hands through his dark red hair. “He’s not really a fight kind of guy.”

“Defending Musichetta when some guy was getting handsy and pushy with her.” Here Joly passed Alphonse back to Marius and balled his hands into white-knuckled fists. Marius blinked. “I wasn’t there. Bossuet wasn’t there. Jehan was the only one there for her.”

“It’s not your fault,” Marius assured him softly. Joly shook his head.

“One of us should’ve been there,” Joly growled. Marius paled slightly when Joly’s face reddened. “And now Jehan’s all beat up, and Bossuet’s angry, and I feel guilty. Musichetta’s just worried about Jehan. Courf’s mad that Jehan’s beat up, and Jehan’s mad that Courf’s mad.”

“Where’s Combeferre? He could solve this in a second,” Marius asked, tentative. Joly shook his head.

“I think he's at work, so we don't have him right now.” Joly scrubbed at his face with his hands.

“What do we do?” Marius looked up at the ceiling worriedly. Joly shrugged and leaned back against the sofa.

“We let them work it out themselves. It’s Courf and Jehan.” Joly tried to sound positive, but Marius picked up on how unsure he was.

* * *

Jehan had been ushered into their house by Joly and Musichetta. Musichetta was pulling his hair back from his face and Joly was walking backwards, his hand on Jehan’s jaw as he turned the poet's face.

“You really shouldn’t’ve done that for me, sweetheart,” Musichetta was saying.

“But I won,” Jehan teased, turning slightly to smile reassuringly at her. Joly pulled his head back around and led him over to the sofa. Once Jehan was sat down, Musichetta folded up next to him and Joly crouched in front of him.

“You certainly did. I didn’t know you had that in you,” Joly commented. Musichetta laughed.

“I knew he had it in him. He’s got the eyes of a fighter.” Musichetta leaned in and kissed Jehan’s cheek. Joly nodded absently and lifted Jehan’s chin.

“There’s nothing too bad, but I want to make sure you don’t have a concussion, and-” Joly’s words were cut off by the front door opening.

Any greeting Courfeyrac was going to make vanished the second he caught sight of Jehan. He moved over to his poet’s side quickly and reached out hesitantly. “What the hell happened?”

“I got in a fight defending Musichetta’s honor,” Jehan explained, smiling nervously. Courfeyrac frowned, his usual grin nowhere to be found.

“What were you thinking, Jehan? You could’ve gotten seriously hurt,” Courfeyrac murmured, touching Jehan’s jaw and moving his head to the side slightly. Jehan moved his head away from Courfeyrac’s hand.

“I can take care of myself. I knew what I was doing,” Jehan stated, his voice low. Musichetta’s dark skin paled slightly.

“...I have to go back to the cafe,” Musichetta blurted out. Joly turned to look at her with wide eyes, and she mouthed an apology at him before kissing Jehan’s temple. “Thanks again, baby. I appreciate it.” Musichetta got up, gave Joly a long kiss, and left without another word. Jehan stood up from the sofa, and Joly stood, taking a couple steps back.

“Clearly you didn’t know what you were doing,” Courfeyrac continued, “since you look like someone beat the shit out of you.”

“Nobody beat the shit out of me. I won.” Jehan folded his arms across his thin chest. “Like I said, I can take care of myself. You don’t seem to think of me as anything more than some fragile little thing, but I am.”

“I don’t think of you that way!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. Jehan’s eyes darted to Joly for a moment.

“I’m going upstairs,” Jehan said suddenly. He threw an apologetic look to Joly before turning and dashing up the stairs. Courfeyrac stood absolutely still for a moment, his face red.

“Am I wrong?” Courfeyrac eventually spat, turning his gaze on Joly. The pre-med student’s eyes widened with the sudden attention on him.

“I don’t want to take sides here,” Joly answered nervously. Courfeyrac hesitated for a second before taking off up the stairs after Jehan. He found the door to their room slightly open, and took that as an invitation to come in. Jehan was pacing back and forth across the floor, and Courfeyrac’s heart clenched at the sight of him and his mottled skin. He lifted his head to look at Courfeyrac, his eyes wet; he was clearly trying to force himself not to cry. He set his jaw at the sight of his boyfriend.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Jehan said softly. Courfeyrac threw his hands up in the air.

“I’m not going to fight with you!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. Jehan dropped his hands down by his sides. “I just wonder why you could be so _stupid_ as to-”

“What? As to what, Courf?” Jehan put his hands on his hips and glared at Courfeyrac, who slammed the door shut behind him. Jehan flinched back, but Courfeyrac took no notice.

“As to get in a fight with someone who was probably twice your size, Prouvaire!” Courfeyrac shouted. Jehan’s face turned bright red, blending in with his freckles and his hair.

“What makes you think he was twice my size? What makes you think I can’t hold my own?” Jehan turned away for a moment, and Courfeyrac caught sight of a black bruise beginning to blossom along the line of his jaw. It made him angry at whoever dared to touch Jehan, but that someone was not here to argue with.

“Because you’re five foot four and you weigh one hundred pounds soaking wet!” Courfeyrac swallowed and looked down. “I’m not wrong in thinking that you could’ve gotten seriously hurt, and I don’t like the idea of you just going around picking fights with random guys!”

“He kept touching Musichetta, and she kept saying no! I had to help her!”

“Musichetta can defend herself!”

“Would you rather Musichetta got beat up in a fight with that guy, rather than me?” Jehan crossed his arms again. Courfeyrac stopped thinking.

“I would, because I can’t stand it when you’re hurt!” Courfeyrac ran a hand over his face and clenched his jaw before speaking slowly. “I want to stop fighting with you. I hate fighting with you.”

“Then don’t fight with me! Don’t let us be like Enjolras and Grantaire!” Jehan exclaimed, his hands flying through the air. Downstairs, in the kitchen, Enjolras raised an eyebrow, and Grantaire shook his head, staring into his bowl of cereal like Enjolras was not even there.

“I’m not going to fight with you. I just don’t want you to make idiotic decisions like that.” Courfeyrac stated plainly.

“You don’t own me, Courfeyrac!” Jehan shouted back, unable to keep his voice down. “I can make whatever decisions I want to make, whether they’re idiotic to you or they’re not!”

“You’re marrying me!” Courfeyrac stepped forward. Jehan took a step back subconsciously.

“That doesn’t make me yours!” Jehan said before running a hand through his wild hair, pulling the braid out. His long curls fell down to his waist, and Courfeyrac was momentarily distracted. He blinked and refocused.

“I was under the impression that it did,” Courfeyrac said softly, “and that it made me yours, too.”

Jehan blinked and stared blankly at Courfeyrac for a moment, clearly caught off guard. “I’m trying to be mad at you over here. You can’t do that.”

“Why are you mad?”

“You yelled at me.” Jehan crossed his arms again. “I did what I thought was best.”

“I hate that you’re hurt,” Courfeyrac explained, stepping forward and unfolding Jehan’s arms. He ran his hands down his poet’s freckled arms and over to his waist, holding him there firmly. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“I’m sorry I yelled back,” Jehan whispered, tipping his head back when Courfeyrac bent his head down and began pressing kisses down Jehan’s neck.

“I’m sorry for being stupid,” Courfeyrac said softly, his voice muffled by Jehan’s skin.

“I’m sorry you’re stupid,” Jehan teased, smiling. Courfeyrac raised his head and grinned back.

“I’m sorry for fighting,” Courfeyrac added before dropping his head and pulling Jehan’s head to his. He pressed their foreheads together and was silent for a moment. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Jehan murmured back, lifting himself up on his toes a bit to meet Courfeyrac’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no good way to end this, no matter how I tried, so I just stopped trying and deleted all the endings, leaving you with what you just read. Plus, you know, who really wants these two to fight? They're so precious. I hope you enjoyed it anyways.
> 
> If you want to send me anything, just post on tumblr with any of the following tags: "andillwriteyouatragedy", "showmeahero", and/or "stay irresponsible", or just send me a message at andillwriteyouatragedy.


	27. The One Where Gavroche Becomes An Official Revolutionary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire makes the wrong shirts, Gavroche provokes the NYPD, Joly actually keeps the peace, and Musichetta can be quite convincing when she wants to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll explain myself at the end.

“You’re not going to this protest,” Courfeyrac insisted. “I’ll stay home with you if you want, but after last time-”

“Last time was a fluke, Courf,” Jehan murmured, pressing his lips to Courfeyrac’s neck. “It’s not going to happen again. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that,” Courfeyrac argued, but his voice was weak, and Jehan knew he had won. He dropped a quick kiss on Courfeyrac’s lips and backed up.

“I can and I will. I’m not dying anytime soon, really. I’m far too busy for that,” Jehan teased, squeezing Courfeyrac’s hand and skipping over to where Grantaire was opening a box of folded black shirts.

“Since someone washed all the shirts I painted,” Grantaire shot a pointed look in a guilty-looking Bossuet’s direction, “I made shirts with all our names on them. I thought it’d be fun. They spell ‘revolution’. I had to stick Joly and Bahorel at the bottom, though. I was going to say _la revolution_ , but there was no ‘a’ to use.”

“Yes, there was,” Courfeyrac corrected, pointing out the correct letters in Joly’s and Bahorel’s names. Grantaire groaned.

“Also, you put my name twice,” Jehan added, motioning to the names ‘Jehan’ and ‘Prouvaire’ in two different places. Grantaire sat down heavily in the kitchen chair and let his head slam down onto the table.

“I fucked up,” Grantaire mumbled into the wood of the table. Jehan frowned and immediately pulled his shirt on over his head.

“I love it,” Jehan announced, tugging at Grantaire’s sweatshirt sleeve. “It’s okay that it’s a little messed up. It adds personality.”

“It makes us look stupid,” Grantaire sighed, letting Jehan pull his head onto the poet’s shoulder.

“Nobody’s gonna know. I love my shirt, so thank you for making them for us.” Jehan kissed the side of Grantaire’s head, which drew a smile from the artist. Jehan stood and pat him on the back. “Courfeyrac and I will pass them out to everyone for you.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, smiling up at him. Jehan kissed his forehead, motioned for Courfeyrac to grab the box, and danced out of the room. Grantaire watched for a moment as Courfeyrac followed before he dropped his head back onto the table with a groan. The sound of footsteps into the room came a moment later, but there was only silence. The anonymous person moved over to the coffeepot, and Grantaire soon had a mug of steaming hot coffee right next to his face. He turned his head to the side and caught sight of Enjolras slipping into the seat across from him.

“I like your shirts,” Enjolras commented quietly. Grantaire hummed and started taking long sips of his coffee, despite how hot it doubtlessly still was. “Really. I think they’re nice.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire mumbled around a mouthful of coffee. “I fucked them up.”

“I like them anyways.”

“I appreciate it.” Grantaire looked up when Musichetta slid into the room, wearing a pair of Joly’s pale green scrubs, her long, dark waves of hair tied up into a messy bun. She had on an out-of-place scarf, bright blue, that looked to be Jehan’s, a red beanie that belonged to Grantaire, and socks that belonged to Bossuet. “Do you live here yet?”

“Almost. Give me a day to get my books in here,” Musichetta laughed, kissing the top of Enjolras’ head, then Grantaire’s, as she passed on her way to the refrigerator.

“I figured as much,” Enjolras added, watching Musichetta as she half-disappeared into the fridge. “Anything in particular you need?”

“Water bottle for Joly. Bossuet accidentally dropped theirs on the ground,” Musichetta informed them before re-emerging with her desired water bottle. “Bingo.”

“Not coming today, then?” Grantaire asked, twisting in his seat to watch her as he drained the last of his black coffee.

“No, I’m going to stay here with Cosette and Eponine,” Musichetta informed them. She leaned against the kitchen counter and stole two cookies from their teddy bear cookie jar. “You should let Gavroche come to this one. He’s watched enough, I think he can come.”

As if on cue, Gavroche bound into the room, throwing himself into Grantaire’s lap and accepting the cookie Musichetta passed him. “Can I please come?”

Enjolras met Grantaire’s eyes over the child’s head, and Grantaire took that as a sign that this was his decision. He bit back a sigh and looked down at Gavroche’s eager face. “Will you promise to stick with me?”

“Yes!” Gavroche agreed immediately, grabbing at Grantaire’s sweatshirt. Grantaire noticed belatedly Gavroche was wearing one of the shirts he had made, and he made a mental note to grab one for himself.

“Fine, then you can come. But only because you promised, and I take you to be a man of your word.” Grantaire shifted Gavroche onto the floor and pushed at his shoulder slightly. “Go tell your sister you’ll be coming, and get her to pad you with cardboard. Got it?”

“Got it.” Gavroche took off at a run, shoving the rest of his cookie into his mouth as he went. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire.

“Are you sure it’s wise to let him come?” Enjolras asked, sounding more than a little skeptical. Musichetta shrugged, and Grantaire waved him off.

“I’ll be there to watch him.” Grantaire stood, placed his coffee mug in the sink, and pointedly ignored looking at Enjolras’ expression. “You’d best finish getting ready, or we’ll leave without you, and we all know how much Bahorel loves to defend you.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but accepted the passing kiss from Grantaire as the artist left the room. Musichetta made a thoughtful noise, and Enjolras looked over at her curiously. She shrugged again, her delicate shoulders lifting as she did.

“Do you ever think we’re all too close in this house?” Musichetta asked, seemingly genuinely curious. Enjolras frowned.

“Are we?” Enjolras looked up at Musichetta, who had snatched the water bottle back from off the counter and was making her return trip to the living room. Musichetta kissed the top of his head again.

“Maybe, but I like it.” Musichetta disappeared with that, leaving Enjolras alone in the kitchen.

* * *

“Did you show them all the permits?” Enjolras asked Combeferre in a low voice. His best friend nodded and handed him his megaphone, which Enjolras gripped tightly in his good hand. “Good, good. I think this one’s going to go really well.”

“We only have until five, don’t forget. I’ll signal you when you’ve got ten minutes,” Combeferre informed him, clapping Enjolras’ shoulder. “The roadblocks are set, Feuilly and Bahorel are going to flank you, I’m going to be down in front of you, Grantaire’s got Gavroche off to the side a bit, Marius is going to be handing out pamphlets in the crowd, Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Emmanuelle are manning the sides to make sure nobody leaks out, Bossuet’s in the back to keep an eye on the cops, and Joly’s going to be a little further to your left with his first-aid kit. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Enjolras repeated, eyeing the cops. “They look a little on edge today.”

“We made the trip up to New York for a bigger audience. The NYPD is the price you have to pay,” Combeferre grumbled in a low voice, glaring at the police force around them. “They don’t have the reputation they have for no reason. Any sign of anything not going according to plan, and they’ll get their hoses out. Be careful, and, if they start moving in, just do what we learned. Got it?”

“Got it,” Enjolras confirmed, fumbling to turn on his megaphone. He swung up onto the ledge in front of the statue and waited for Bahorel to blare his bullhorn to gather the chattering crowd’s attention. The ralliers turned their faces to him and began listening intently as he began his well-practiced speech. The crowd swelled in all the right places, but the cops edged closer as the time limit came, and Enjolras found himself hurrying to finish in his given span of time. Unfortunately, Gavroche seemed to pick up on the tension, as well. He glared at the police from his vantage point atop Grantaire’s shoulders before pulling at Grantaire’s hair and asking the artist something. Grantaire nodded and let Gavroche down, going to hold onto his hand. Gavroche tugged at him until they were turned around, face-to-face with the cops.

“Leave us alone! We’ve still got time!” Gavroche shouted, his high-pitched boy’s voice rising over Enjolras’. The shock value silence the crowd, and Grantaire was already pulling Gavroche away.

“Gavroche, don’t antagonize them,” Grantaire was murmuring. He waved Enjolras on without looking at him, so Enjolras continued, though he found his gaze worriedly straying to them every now and then. Emmanuelle had made her way over, as well as a nervous Combeferre, and the three of them were talking to Gavroche in low voices. Gavroche’s voice was not so low.

“But that’s not fair! Aren’t they part of the problem?” Gavroche asked, and Enjolras quieted again, watching the police with no small amount of anxiety.

“They’re helping us today, Gavroche,” Emmanuelle informed the boy, her accent thicker than Enjolras knew it to be with the same anxiety that he was feeling.

“No, they’re not! They’re making Enjolras jumpy!” Gavroche turned around and pointed a small finger at the cops. “Fuck off!”

“Gavroche!” Combeferre exclaimed as the police moved in. Grantaire immediately shoved Gavroche and Emmanuelle behind him, trying to make himself seem bigger than he actually was. Combeferre moved around Grantaire and held his hands out peaceably. Enjolras was already down from the statue and moving through the crowd at lightning speed.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Enjolras informed them calmly once he reached the policemen. Emmanuelle had a hand clamped over Gavroche’s mouth, Grantaire’s protective shadow still cast over them as he stood between them and the NYPD. Joly pushed through the crowd to Enjolras’ side.

“It seems our time is up, if you’ll let us go as peacefully as we came,” Joly said to the red-faced woman at the head of the trigger-happy force. She nodded, though the motion seemed pained, and Joly clapped three times, a signal that had previously established. The crowd broke up almost at once, dispersing into all different directions, leaving just the core group of organizers behind. The cops spoke to Enjolras for a couple minutes before they, too, left. Grantaire turned to Gavroche the second he could, scooping the boy up into his arms and hugging him fiercely.

“Don’t you ever put yourself in that kind of danger again,” Grantaire ordered fiercely into Gavroche’s shoulder. The boy nodded and wrapped his own arms around Grantaire.

“I’m sorry,” Gavroche murmured quietly. Grantaire laughed.

“You should be, you gave me a heart attack. I’m too young to die like that.” Grantaire squeezed Gavroche again before releasing the boy, only to swing him up onto his shoulders once more. Emmanuelle kissed Grantaire on both cheeks.

“Thank you, ma chérie.” Emmanuelle grinned at him as Grantaire adjusted his grip on Gavroche and smiled back at her.

“Gavroche, you are never going to do that to me again!” Jehan exclaimed, rushing over and grabbing the boy’s hand. Gavroche just nodded at him, and then smiled reassuringly at Courfeyrac’s worried face.

Enjolras let Combeferre take the megaphone from him before he ran his hand through his hair. “Let’s just go home, alright? Joly, call Musichetta, tell her everything’s alright and we’re coming home.” Enjolras hesitated for a moment. “On second thought, Bossuet, you call. Joly’ll worry her.”

Bossuet raised his head, and Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “How did you get a black eye?”

Bossuet hung his head slightly. “I tripped.”

Joly was at Bossuet’s side in a moment, touching his face gingerly. Enjolras watched for a moment before he turned to Marius. “Marius, call Cosette, let her know everything’s alright and that we’re on our way home.”

“Gotcha,” Marius replied, pulling out his phone and holding it to his ear in seconds. Enjolras nodded and assessed the rest of his team before catching Joly’s attention.

“You drove us here in your van. Time to go.” Enjolras clapped Joly’s shoulder and headed for the car. Grantaire followed after him, gripping Gavroche’s ankles as he went. Their entire band trailed after them, including Emmanuelle, who said her goodbyes, promised she would message Enjolras and Grantaire in a couple days, and wandered off in the direction of her car. Grantaire gave up his passenger seat to sit with Gavroche in the back row of Joly’s van.

* * *

“Figures you would get a black eye,” Musichetta laughed as soon as Bossuet came through the front door. She was up and giving him a kiss before anyone else could even come through the door. Enjolras sidestepped them, allowing Joly to come in behind him and shuffle the two of them off to the side.

“How was girls’ night?” Marius asked, moving in to kiss Cosette but ending up with an armful of his son instead. He shifted his grip on Alphonse and made a face at him, which made his son smile in return. He kissed the top of the child’s dark-red-haired head and began talking animatedly to Cosette in a low voice.

Joly was tugging determinedly at Musichetta’s scrubs - technically his, though they were on her - now that he was satisfied that Bossuet was okay. Musichetta batted his hands away, but accepted his kiss anyways. Combeferre went immediately to Eponine, dropping his head down to kiss her cheek and murmur something in her ear. Her head shot up, and she called Gavroche over; her younger brother slid down from Grantaire’s shoulders and let himself be hugged by his sister.

“Today was a success, in case anyone was wondering,” Courfeyrac announced to the room at large. The night had grown dark on their return trip, and Jehan was yawning beside him, burrowing into Courfeyrac’s side like a tired kitten. Enjolras moved to the front of the room and raised his hands, still able to command his friends’ attention.

“We got the word out today, but we were not as successful as I would’ve hoped!” Enjolras declared, his hands still held out. Gavroche frowned and looked down at his hands guiltily. “However, I am honored that we have a promising future before us. Gavroche showed promise today, and I am incredibly proud of him for doing so.” Enjolras motioned with his hand. “Gavroche, come here.”

Gavroche stood, with no little amount of prodding from Eponine, and picked his way the crowd of friends to Enjolras, who lifted the boy up despite his broken arm, holding him in place on his left hip with his good arm.

“I know that, once our generation of AI has moved on, you’ll be here to take our place,” Enjolras told Gavroche softly. The blond boy nodded, giving Enjolras a toothy grin. Enjolras nodded to him and let him back down on the ground before turning back to address the room once more. “I think we’ve more than earned a good night’s sleep after today’s adrenaline drain. Goodnight.”

A chorus of tired ‘goodnight’s rose to meet him as he jogged up the stairs, Grantaire following behind tiredly. Once they hit the attic, Grantaire threw himself into the bed, stretching out against the sheets and letting his eyes fall shut immediately.

“You have to at least take your clothes off,” Enjolras informed him in a low voice as he shut the door to their bedroom. Grantaire made an absent noise and shoved his shoes off before curling up into a ball. Enjolras rolled his eyes and began pulling his own clothes off one-handedly. Grantaire opened one eye, watching him for a moment. Once Enjolras was half-undressed, Grantaire groaned loudly and forced his clothes off and onto the floor. “Long day?”

“The longest. The next person who puts themselves in danger like that is in more danger of me kicking their ass than anything else,” Grantaire grumbled into his pillow. Enjolras flicked the lights off and climbed into bed alongside the artist. Grantaire shifted closer without even seeming to notice what he was doing.

“I’ll make sure to send out a memo,” Enjolras promised, trying to sound placating. Grantaire hummed and turned around his face was a breath away from Enjolras’.

“You do that,” Grantaire murmured, pressing his lips to Enjolras’ and falling asleep there. Enjolras blinked tiredly and let himself follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, the shirts Grantaire makes are real shirts. I made them when I was so fucked up with exhaustion, and I now also own one (whoops). They're right here: http://www.redbubble.com/people/nicoleliane/works/10191148-long-live-us
> 
> Also, I don't actually live in New York, so I have little to no right to bash the NYPD, so just know that I'm using them based on what I've seen. Please don't hit me if you're a policeman/live in New York/get offended easily and feel like beating me up.
> 
> The whole Gavroche and Grantaire dynamic I actually picked up from the stage version of Les Miserables I saw over the weekend. They were best friends and it was the best except when Gavroche died and Grantaire had a meltdown. That wasn't cool.
> 
> I read a fic a couple days ago (or today? yesterday? it was recent) in which Musichetta used Joly's scrubs as pajamas or just like clothes to hang around in and I read that sentence where that was stated like twenty times because I wanted to die from how cute that is, so I stuck it in mine. I don't remember the fic I stole it from, so, if it's you, have my sincerest apologies.
> 
> I learned a lot about rallies and protests, but I didn't get to use a lot of that knowledge here... Maybe later. This is, like, my third protest, and they never really go well for these guys. Someday, though. I have faith in them.
> 
> Let's see... I want everyone to remember Enjolras is the leader... uhm... I'm not sure what else I have to say. Sorry I suck? That's about it.


	28. The One Where Combeferre Is A King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Combeferre needs a label, Eponine needs stability, Grantaire cries, and Enjolras comes to a realization (thanks to Joly).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for JJ, who requested, among other things, "And little things like R going to an ultrasound with Eponine. Or Combeferre being with Eponine when the baby kicks for the first time. Or Enjy talking to someone (not R) about how he thinks r is going to be a great father and the other person telling Enjy how he thinks this little girl is going to wrap him around his finger and she's going to be Enjy's little princess eventhough he might not believe that himself yet... i don't know..." Here's three of your four requests shoved into one chapter, JJ. I hope they live up to your potential.
> 
> Also, if you're curious as to what the "present" is in this fic right now, the date for this chapter is July 18, 2013. Just so you know.

Eponine was lounging lazily, letting herself wrap around Combeferre as they half-watched whatever movie Jehan had put on before Courfeyrac had quite literally picked him up and took him away. Combeferre was pressing tired kisses along her neck and across her shoulder, the act almost subconscious. Eponine made a humming noise, and Combeferre lifted his head. The look on his face was not what Eponine was expecting to see; she leaned in slightly.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Eponine asked, her voice soft. Combeferre began to shake his head, but he stopped himself. He hesitated.

“What are we doing, Eponine?” Combeferre pulled back from her and scrubbed his hand over his face. “What the hell am I... I don’t understand. What do you want from me?”

“I just want you,” Eponine answered, confused. She tucked her legs up under her and tilted her head to the side slightly.

“Is it just me, though?” Combeferre drew a leg up, wrapping both arms around it and letting his other leg hang off the sofa. “I don’t... I don’t do this, you know? And I don’t know what we are. I don’t know what we’re doing here.”

“You know what my father did to me,” Eponine said quietly, sitting up slightly. Combeferre folded his legs on the sofa like a pretzel. “You know that I’ll never stop loving Marius. You know the mistakes I’ve made. You know about my sister. You know... ‘Ferre, you know everything. You’re everything, do you understand?”

“No,” Combeferre whispered. Eponine reached out and pushed his ruby glasses back up his nose for him. She could see her own reflection in the glass. Combeferre took both of her hands in one of his.

“Do you need a set label? I can give you that. I can be your girlfriend.” Eponine looked down at their hands, her hair falling down to create a curtain around her face. Combeferre reached out with his free hand and tucked one half of it behind one of her ears.

“I don’t want you to force yourself into it for me. I just...” Combeferre shut his eyes and let his chin drop down slightly.

“I understand.” Eponine pulled her hands free and took his face between them. “Hey, I get it. It’s stability. You like stability. I could really use some stability, you know.”

“I can give you that,” Combeferre offered, opening his eyes. Eponine smiled.

“You’re the King of being stable,” Eponine informed him, leaning in to give him a small kiss. Combeferre reached up, one of his hands tangling in her hair at the back of her head, the other one falling heavily onto her hip. She pushed closer into him, deepening their kiss for a moment before she pulled back. “You know, we don’t make any sense.”

“You’re the Queen of not making sense,” Combeferre murmured before resuming their kiss. Eponine gave a satisfied sigh. He pulled her closer to him until their bodies were almost flush; suddenly, she jerked back, reacting as though she had been burned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Eponine looked down at her own torso. “I- Combeferre.”

Combeferre was already up off the sofa, ready to either grab his phone or take off to find Joly wherever he happened to be in the house. Eponine reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay here,” Eponine instructed, tugging at his arm. Combeferre’s brow furrowed, but he did as he was told, though he remained standing. Eponine grabbed his hand and pressed it against her stomach. “Do you feel that?”

Combeferre had to wait a minute or two, but he did soon feel a small flutter against his palm. He jerked his hand back, but Eponine held onto it.

“Is that...” Combeferre fell heavily back onto the sofa. Eponine kept his hand in place.

“Yeah,” Eponine answered his unspoken question. He swallowed.

“Are you-”

“It’s Grantaire’s daughter,” Eponine stated firmly. Combeferre nodded and let their foreheads fall together. “I’m sure. But let me have this with you, just for a second. Alright?”

“Alright,” Combeferre agreed softly. Eponine kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” Eponine whispered. Combeferre raised his head and gave her a proper kiss.

* * *

Eponine found Grantaire in the attic, painting furiously, a new work that no one had seen yet. She knocked on the open door tentatively, and he whirled around, sending red paint flying against his white shirt. Eponine raised an eyebrow at him.

“I was just with Combeferre. She kicked for the first time,” Eponine informed him softly. Grantaire dropped his paintbrush into the jar set down on the floor beside him and picked his way over to her. She took his hand and pressed it to the right spot on her abdomen. He waited a moment, and Eponine could tell when the baby kicked, not just by what she felt, but by the sudden intake of breath that Grantaire took.

“This is real,” Grantaire breathed. His eyes darted up to meet Eponine’s.

“It is.” Eponine pat his hand and took it off of her. “You can still back out, you know. Nobody would blame you.”

“I have to do this. I’m never going to get another chance. You know that better than anyone else,” Grantaire replied. He nodded, mostly to himself. “I can do this.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you can do this,” Eponine assured him. Grantaire nodded again. “That’s not the only reason I came up here.”

“What’s up?” Grantaire asked, turning away to put the lids on his paint cans and clean off his brushes in the bowl of murky water on the desk. Eponine came into the room and flopped down onto the bed.

“I’ve got an ultrasound today. I thought you might want to come,” Eponine offered. Grantaire hummed, trying not to let slip how excited he felt to be asked.

“I’d love to go with you,” Grantaire answered, draining the water out the window. He looked over his shoulder. “Don’t tell Jehan I’m the reason there’s a patch of dead grass down there.”

“My lips are sealed,” Eponine laughed, letting her head fall back to hit the pillows. “Anyways, appointment’s at two, so we should probably leave now if you want to see your kid today.”

“I’d love to see my kid today.” Grantaire shed his paint-stained shirt and traded it for one of Enjolras’ nicer button-downs, a dark green that Eponine thought complimented him well. Finally dressed, he spread his arms out. “I am in your care. Do with me what you will.”

Eponine smacked him on the ass and pulled him by the hand down the stairs.

* * *

Joly entered the kitchen to find Enjolras already there, the lone occupant of the room, seated at the table with a textbook, several notebooks, and a highlighter, the cap of which was trapped between his teeth. Enjolras looked up as the pre-med student entered, dropping the highlighter cap from his mouth.

“Hey,” Enjolras greeted. Joly nodded in his direction.

“Hey,” Joly replied, crossing the room to the sink and beginning to wash his hands in earnest. “Grantaire texted and said he and Eponine are bringing home take-out.”

Enjolras pulled his phone out of his pocket and noticed three missed texts from Grantaire.

_**Grantaire:** Ep + i wnt 2 ultrasound, bbs_

_**Grantaire:** she’s healthy + pretty, i prmise_

_**Grantaire:** gttng tkeout, ill gt u ur usual_

Enjolras nodded and turned the volume on his phone up slightly before depositing it on the table, running a hand through his hair. “They went to an appointment together.”

“So Combeferre informed me.” Joly dried his hands with a paper towel before scowling at the location of the paper towels and resuming his rigorous hand-washing. Enjolras fetched him one of the ‘safe’ dry washcloths from the top of the fridge. Joly thanked him and accepted the hand towel. “You sure you’re alright with all this?”

“It’s not my decision. If Grantaire wants to do it, it’s his life.” Enjolras returned to his seat at the kitchen table, pointedly not looking at Joly.

“You’re his life. You know that, right?” Joly asked honestly, taking the seat across from Enjolras. “If you wanted to talk about it, he’d let you. Hell, he’d let you do anything.”

“I know he’d listen. But he wants this, and I want him to be happy.” Enjolras gave up on studying and finally re-capped his highlighter. “Besides, despite his father, I think he’s going to be a great dad.”

“What makes you say that?” Joly inquired innocently, tipping his head to the side just so. Enjolras did not pick up on any of his friend’s actions.

“He’s protective. He’s definitely got discipline. He’s got enough love to sink a ship.” Enjolras ran his hand through his hair. “He was made for this. I never really noticed that.”

“Maybe because he made the outlet for all that you, and now that it’s beginning to be focused elsewhere, you can see it better,” Joly offered. Enjolras frowned at him.

“I think you’re mistaken.”

“I know that I’m not.”

Enjolras eyed Joly for a moment before he looked down at his phone. He fiddled with the edge of his case for a moment before he abruptly looked back up into Joly’s eyes. “He’s going to be great at this.”

“So are you, even though you don’t seem to realize that yet.” Joly leaned back in his chair, and Enjolras leaned forward, subconsciously following Joly’s movements.

“Do you really think so?” Enjolras asked, brow furrowed. Joly snorted.

“I know so, actually. I have total faith in you,” Joly informed him all-too-seriously. “She’ll be the love of your life.”

“I don’t have time-”

“You’ll make time,” Joly assured him. The pre-med student stood, tucking his washcloth into his back pocket. “Like I said, I have total faith in you.”

Enjolras was prepared to speak again, but Joly had left in mere moments. Enjolras fell back against the back of his chair, feeling slightly defeated and more than a little confused.

* * *

“I can’t believe you cried,” Courfeyrac snorted, stealing one of the chicken strips from the take-out box on the kitchen table. Jehan scowled at his fiancee.

“It was a touching moment for him, Courf. Be sensitive for once,” Jehan scolded. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, but kissed Jehan’s cheek anyways. The poet blushed and looked down at his french fries.

“It was cute,” Eponine assured them, scratching the back of Grantaire’s head as though he were a puppy. Grantaire swatted at her hand.

“Shut up. I can’t believe you told them,” Grantaire grumbled into his mug of black coffee, trying to pretend it was whiskey and failing tremendously.

“It’s sweet.” Musichetta passed Grantaire one of the pickles slices from her burger. The artist took it gratefully.

“Anyways, she’s healthy and fine and all that wonderful shit. We got to hear her heartbeat, and that’s when he cried,” Eponine paused to smile at Grantaire, “and they let us take some prints.”

Eponine passed out the prints they had gotten and listened to the anticipated cooing. Bahorel peered at his copy inquisitively before looking up at Grantaire.

“Got a name yet, big guy?” Bahorel asked, leaning backwards in his kitchen chair. Grantaire shrugged, uncomfortable with all the focus in the room suddenly moved onto him. He chanced the briefest of looks at Enjolras before returning his blue-eyed stare to his coffee.

“I don’t know yet,” Grantaire answered, his voice low. The answer was accepted at once, and the conversation’s focus shifted back onto Eponine. Joly took the seat beside Grantaire and slid a little bit closer to him.

“If you’re worried about Enjolras, don’t be. I talked to him earlier. I think he’s actually looking forward to this, in his own way,” Joly informed Grantaire around a mouthful of applesauce.

“Really?” Grantaire asked, turning slightly to look at Enjolras behind him as the blond spoke to Feuilly in quick, low voices.

“Really. Don’t lose faith.” Joly kissed Grantaire’s cheek and disappeared to find Bossuet and make him eat something for dinner. Grantaire blinked, and suddenly had a lapful of Gavroche.

“I’m the best uncle, right?” Gavroche demanded. Grantaire nodded immediately.

“Anyone who says otherwise is a filthy liar,” Grantaire promised. Gavroche beamed at him before twisting to stick his tongue out at Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out in return, and Jehan smacked him before he decided to take Courfeyrac’s tongue-related matters into his own hands. Combeferre buried his head in the icebox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dudes I am SO tired seriously sorry if this sucks but here
> 
> my tumblr name is andillwriteyouatragedy, feel free to send me a message or post something with any or all of the following tags: "andillwriteyouatragedy", "showmeahero", "stay irresponsible".
> 
> bonjour


	29. The One Where Grantaire Has A Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire has a smoke, Enjolras gets a call, the weather is dreary, and we meet Astrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know, of course, that Grantaire has a sister. I decided to utilize her a bit. Don't worry too much; I won't be using her all that much, I just needed her here. Thank you and goodnight.
> 
> Also, if you can figure out why all these tattoos are what they are, four for you, Glen Coco. I recalled that lokisgodandmycroftsangel asked for description of his tattoos, so, here you go, kiddo. The amount makes it seem like his skin is entirely covered, but it's not all of him; his arms and torso are just entirely decorated. You feel?

Grantaire had dragged the hard desk chair over to the window and kicked it back, setting his feet up on the windowsill. He crossed his ankles as he stared out the window. The weather outside was grey and dreary, and the air was heavy with the scent of rain. He watched the trees swaying in the wet breeze as he lit a cigarette. He breathed the smoke out the open window so Enjolras would have no reason to be pissed when he got home.

Grantaire was sheathed only in a dark red beanie, grey socks, and pajama pants - bright red, so they were probably Enjolras’ - leaving his torso bare. There was still a slight chill in the air, thanks to the rainy weather, but he ignored it. He took another pull from the cigarette and sighed, the smoke flowing out of his nose like wispy waterfalls of dark air. He scratched at the back of his head, displacing the beanie slightly. He was avoiding thinking of anything in particular, but he felt especially down, moreso than usual, and he wanted to shake it before everyone else got home.

He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to push down the frustration, rage, and melancholy that were desperately attempting making itself known. He took a drag from the cigarette. The front door opened downstairs, and he sighed, briefly debating stubbing out the cigarette on his arm before he just crushed the embers in his hand until they were nonexistent, and he flicked the butt into the trash can. He let his head fall back, and he waited for the footsteps to come all the way up to the attic and push open the door. He opened one eye and watched Enjolras approach.

“How was wherever you were?” Grantaire asked, trying to seem honestly curious, rather than depressed. Enjolras deposited his bag by the bedroom door.

“We had a meeting. It was fine.” Enjolras fell down on the bed to pull his shoes off. “We missed you. Any particular reason you decided not to show up or answer any of our texts and calls?

Grantaire glanced at the dead phone on his bedside table before he let his gaze wander back to focus on the trees outside. “I’m not feeling it today. I’m sorry.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “Don’t... be sorry? Why are you sorry?”

“I don’t have a good excuse.” Grantaire pulled his feet down, placed them flat on the floor, and let his chair fall forward to land on all four legs. He bowed his head and pulled his beanie off, running a hand through his hair shakily. “I should’ve been there.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Enjolras offered hesitantly. He looked towards the bedroom door as though he were hoping for backup but, when no one came, he got up off the bed and moved over to Grantaire. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Grantaire sighed, raising his head again. Enjolras pushed his hair out of his eyes for him.

“Clearly something. You can talk to me, come on,” Enjolras urged, out of his depth but still trying. Grantaire appreciated that.

“I honestly don’t know. I’m just... not up to it. To anything.” Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras’ reach. “It’s stupid.”

Enjolras paused to think for a moment before he reached out, taking Grantaire by the elbows and leading him to the bed. He forced him down and followed, wrapping himself around his pale artist. Grantaire curled into Enjolras like he needed him to breathe. He just may have.

Enjolras traced the colorful planes of Grantaire’s skin, stained brilliantly by a bright sun on his left shoulder; the Borghese Vase over his heart; a small Icarus on his upper left arm; a stunning Apollo above Icarus, closer to the sun; a bow with an arrow poised to be released under his right clavicle; an elegant kithara on his left hip; a plectrum paired with paintbrushes on the back of his left hand; an old Delphic sacrificial tripod on the lower left corner of his back; a bay laurel wreath tangled with an ivy crown on the back of his neck; a palm tree on his right side; an elaborate animal cycle including wolves, dolphins, western roe deer, swans, cicadas, hawks, ravens, crows, snakes, mice, and the fictional griffins, all over his back; the words “symmetry, proportion, and harmony” tattooed around his right wrist; the words “”beauty is truth, and truth beauty”” wrapping around his upper right arm; the name “Dionysus” sprawled across his left clavicle; a chariot drawn by leopards soaring across his stomach; a grape vine trailing from his right hip down onto his thigh; child's blocks spelling "A", "B", and "C" on the inside of his left forearm; a thyrsus spread onto the fingers of his right hand; a serpent wrapped around his left wrist; a set of separated piano keys falling down his left side. Grantaire had many small tattoos, but they made up in number what they lacked in size. Enjolras got lost in the stories told by Grantaire’s tattoos, and did not notice that Grantaire had been trying to kiss him for a few moments.

“Mm, sorry,” Enjolras murmured, letting Grantaire’s mouth fall onto his. He traced the sun on Grantaire’s shoulder distractedly as they kissed. When they separated, Enjolras asked, “How do you even get all these?”

“I got a guy who used to operate with me based on trading, rather than currency,” Grantaire explained vaguely. Enjolras frowned.

“What would you trade?” Enjolras urged. Grantaire shook his head and tugged on Enjolras’ sleeve until the blonde got the message and climbed up on top of Grantaire.

“Not important.” Grantaire reached up and pulled Enjolras’ head down until his lips were at the blonde’s ear. “Make me forget myself.”

Enjolras nodded and claimed Grantaire’s mouth again.

* * *

Once Grantaire had fallen asleep, Enjolras disentangled himself and made his way to his desk, where his textbooks and notebooks lay waiting for him. He plugged Grantaire’s phone in for him, and was barely paying attention as the screen lit up with the messages that were finally coming through. He noticed a substantial amount of voicemails, though, and as he picked the phone up, it started ringing, flashing the name Astrid on the screen. A picture accompanied the name, a girl who was laughing and looked startlingly like a female Grantaire. He looked over his shoulder at Grantaire before he picked up the phone.

“Hello?” Enjolras asked, peering out the window. There was a pause.

“Enjolras?” Astrid sounded confused. “Where’s my brother? I’ve been trying to reach him for hours.”

“He’s asleep,” Enjolras informed her, turning around in his spinning chair to watch Grantaire sleep while he talked. “Is something wrong?”

“I think Dad called him. I was worried that he wasn’t picking up.” Astrid’s voice was worried. Enjolras sat up slightly. “Dad passed out a couple hours ago, so I took the phone. Is he okay?”

Enjolras completely straightened out and suppressed the urge to wake Grantaire up and take him someplace safe. “He was upset when I got home. He didn’t come to our meeting after his class, he just went home. He just... We... Should I wake him up?”

“No, let him sleep,” Astrid ordered. Enjolras nodded obediently, then realized he could not be seen.

“I’ll leave him be.” Enjolras turned back around and picked Grantaire’s sketchpad up off the desk. He began leafing through it to the most recent drawings, which were angrily sketched, with harsh lines and many smudges. He frowned. “What did your dad say to him?”

“The usual,” Astrid informed him softly. Enjolras nodded, laying the sketchbook back down on the desk and running his hand through his long hair. “Will you tell him I called once he wakes up?”

“Of course, yes,” Enjolras promised. He sighed and tangled his hand in his curls. “I hate your dad.”

“We all hate my dad.” Astrid made a sad noise. “I miss Mom.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said softly, his eyes darting up when Grantaire began to stir in the bed, awoken by Enjolras’ voice. Enjolras cursed internally; he had forgotten what a light sleeper Grantaire was. “He’s just woken up, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, give me to him,” Astrid instructed. Enjolras passed the phone over to a tired-looking Grantaire, who was just sitting up in bed.

“It’s your sister,” Enjolras informed him quietly. Grantaire nodded and laid back down, listening to whatever Astrid was saying. He rubbed a tired hand over his face as he listened.

“Yes... No, he just- Yes, yeah...” Grantaire closed his eyes. “Did he tell you what he said? ...Figures, yeah... ...You tell me if he says anything like that to you... In fact, you tell me if he does anything even slightly bad to you. Got it? ...Good. I love you... Yes, I... Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. I promise... I’m not even upset, really. No, really... I love you. Get some sleep, alright? I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay. Love you, too. Goodnight.”

Grantaire hung up his phone and dropped it onto the bed. He held up a hand, and Enjolras moved closer, climbing into bed with a worried expression painted onto his face. Grantaire kissed the blond’s creased forehead.

“Stop worrying,” Grantaire whispered near Enjolras’ ear. “I can practically hear your thoughts, and it’s stressing me out.”

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras moved his head down to kiss Grantaire’s neck like he knew the artist liked. Grantaire hummed.

“I’m used to it. It’s fine,” Grantaire replied. He tipped his head backwards, pushing into the pillow in order to allow Enjolras better access.

“I’m still sorry you have to deal with it,” Enjolras murmured. He pressed closer to Grantaire, practically absorbing the sound the brunette made when he did so. “Astrid’ll be eighteen in a couple months, she’ll graduate. Then you won’t have to deal with it.”

Grantaire nodded jerkily. “Mm. You’re right. It’s gonna be alright.”

“Of course it is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Grantaire's sister, the one that's cleaning the streets after all the boys die? Yeah, that one. Just picture Blagdog, if he was a girl. Or, if that's not good enough, look at this picture of Miranda Kerr: http://media-cache-ec4.pinterest.com/736x/93/65/cb/9365cb9bd02804b84f2fc544bd87c935.jpg
> 
> I was trying to find someone who looked like what I was picturing, and she's kinda close, and I didn't know who she was, and she's married to Orlando Bloom? Their age difference isn't big, but she looks like she's five, right? She's, like, a Victoria's Secret model. Anyways, short story long. That's all.


	30. The One Where Bossuet Has A Successful Day (For Once)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jehan asks if he's too girly, Combeferre gets a moment alone with his thoughts, Bossuet is a chapter main character, and Grantaire has a cold, making him feel extremely unsexy and Enjolras just wants to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lazytologin requested: "In which Jehan asks if he's too girly, Combeferre gets a moment alone with his thoughts, Bossuet is a chapter main character, and Grantaire has a cold, making him feel extremely unsexy and Enjolras just wants to help."
> 
> I hope this is what you were looking for, friend.

The day was cold, thick, and rainy, and Jehan, from his vantage point atop the counter, was alternating between staring forlornly at his weather app and staring forlornly out the window.

“It’s July twenty-sixth,” Jehan sighed. He looked up at Courfeyrac with sad eyes. “It’s too wet and cold outside for summer.”

“We can still go out in the rain, if you’d like,” Courfeyrac suggested. Bossuet appeared, popping his head above the door of the refrigerator.

“Joly said that nobody’s going outside in the rain since Grantaire walked home from school and caught a cold,” Bossuet relayed. Jehan pouted. Bossuet just disappeared back into the fridge.

“What are you even looking for?” Courfeyrac asked. Bossuet stepped back and shut the refrigerator door.

“Feuilly’s sandwich. Joly’s dropping it off at the shop before he goes to work, Feuilly needs to stay another shift and he forgot his lunch.” Bossuet held up the sandwich as proof before he dropped it into a Ziploc bag. Joly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and stole the bag from Bossuet’s hand before looking Bossuet over.

“What’s wrong?” Joly asked suddenly. Courfeyrac looked confused.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bossuet insisted. “Why does something always have to be wrong?” At Joly’s raised eyebrow, Bossuet sighed and immediately caved. “I fell down the stairs.”

“I’ll text Combeferre to check on you, I really have to go to work or I’ll be late and Feuilly won’t get to eat lunch today.” Joly raised himself up on his toes to press a kiss to Bossuet’s lips before he bid them all adieu and vanished.

“Is anyone else home?” Courfeyrac asked Bossuet once Joly was gone. Jehan was slowly sliding off the counter, clinging to Courfeyrac’s neck, his slim legs wrapped around his fiance’s waist.

“Grantaire’s up in the attic, Enjolras is with him, and Combeferre is in his room.” Bossuet thought for a moment. “Marius and Cosette took Alfie to Cosette’s dad’s house, Eponine and Feuilly are at work, Joly just left for work, and Bahorel’s at the gym.”

“He’s at the gym?” Jehan asked, lifting his head and frowning. “Usually he asks me to go with him. Why didn’t he ask me to go with him?”

“Maybe he just forgot,” Courfeyrac assured him soothingly.

“Or maybe he was worried about bringing you to the gym when you’re covered in flowers,” Bossuet suggested unhelpfully. When Jehan’s face suddenly fell, he panicked. “No, Jehan, I didn’t mean-”

“I get it,” Jehan said softly, hopping off Courfeyrac and the counter and ghosting from the room. Courfeyrac sighed and scratched at the back of his head.

“You just had to say something, didn’t you?” Courfeyrac groaned. Bossuet blanched.

“That’s not what I meant. You _know_ I love Jehan,” Bossuet pleaded. Courfeyrac nodded, mostly to himself.

“I know.” Courfeyrac laughed suddenly. “You’re seriously the unluckiest guy I know.”

“Don’t need to tell me that,” Bossuet grumbled. Courfeyrac laughed again.

“I’m going to go cheer him up. Maybe make him a pie,” Courfeyrac suggested before following Jehan out of the room. Bossuet set about finding one of Jehan’s recipes for pumpkin pie. Courfeyrac only had to go so far; Jehan was curled up on the sofa in the living room, glaring at an oversized sunflower he had been trying to grow in a pot by the window. Courfeyrac fell down next to him and was content to be silent until Jehan wanted to speak.

“Maybe that is why he didn’t want me to go,” Jehan finally said, looking down at his hands. “Maybe I _am_ too girly.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “Jehan-”

“No, Courf,” Jehan interrupted, his voice soft. “I’m not wrong.”

“Yes, you are wrong,” Courfeyrac argued, pulling Jehan into his arms. His poet settled against his chest, all his tense muscles relaxing all at once. “You’re completely wrong. You can’t be _too_ anything. You’re you. You’re just right.”

“But-”

“No ‘but’s,” Courfeyrac insisted. “I’m right. Tell me I’m right, come on.”

Jehan laughed when Courfeyrac pressed his lips to his fiance’s strawberry blond curls. “Fine, you’re right.”

“I thought so.” Jehan smiled when Courfeyrac’s kisses began to trail down until he reached his poet’s lips. Jehan found himself being pushed down, his back pressed into the cushions as Courfeyrac held himself up above him.

“I love you,” Courfeyrac murmured against his lips. “You’re not too girly, I promise.”

To prove his point, Courfeyrac dragged Jehan upstairs, pulled both their clothes off, and let Jehan do whatever he wanted; this turned out to be allowing Courfeyrac to pin him to the bed and ride him, which was decidedly _not_ girly. Combeferre banged on his floor with the bottom of a standing lamp to try to convey the message that they ought to _quiet down_ and give him some peace.

Combeferre sighed when he admitted to himself that the noises clearly were not going to stop - and, frankly, he had had more than enough of Jehan and Courfeyrac’s deep voices mingling, all throaty moans and low shouts and names being called, but he obviously could not stop this if he tried. He grabbed his headphones and his iPod out of the drawer of his bedside table and shoved it all together as fast as he could. He turned his music as high as it would go and listened to the loud, gentle music of “Musetta’s Waltz”. He stared up at the blank whiteness of his ceiling before shutting his eyes.

He had intended to come upstairs and read, but Eponine had texted him to say she had taken another shift with Feuilly and that she would be back later and that she missed him. Reading the text had hit Combeferre hard, the reality of the situation he was in dropping onto his shoulders like a ton of bricks. He had sat heavily on his bed and put his head in his hands, and he had stayed there until noises started coming from the room below him. He had then growled in frustration, slammed the bottom of a floor lamp against his floor, and thrown himself back into his bed.

He realized he had another person he had to think about. His entire life had been composed of his brothers, his mother, his father, Enjolras, and Courfeyrac, and all of them could take perfect care of themselves. He knew that having Eponine around would change that slightly, but, for some reason, knowing she was _thinking_ of him and that she _missed_ him really made him realize that she depended on him. And, strangely enough, he felt that, just maybe, a part of him depended on her.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to block out the world. “Musetta’s Waltz” swelled around him. He knew that what he and Eponine had was _different_ , somehow. He had no idea what drew them together, but whatever it was was there, and it was strong. He dropped a hand over his face.

What was he doing? Eponine was having someone else’s child, never mind the fact that she was giving that child to yet another someone else. He still had no idea if she was still in love with Marius, and he did not know if she wanted him because of him or just because she needed someone. He also had no idea if he cared either way; he had grown attached to her, and he wanted to hold onto that. Her contrast to him was great in some ways, but microscopic in others, and he found they were far more compatible than anyone knew. They were quite similar in numerous ways - they both liked crime novels, their favorite color was purple, they loved the beach, they learned how to fire guns (but do not tell Enjolras that), among many other things. Combeferre still found himself surprised by how much they had in common. Not to mention, of course, that they both needed the kind of companionship the other could offer.

Combeferre scrubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He could do what was smart, and not do this at all; the kind of dependency Eponine seemed capable of was worrying. Or, he could do what he wanted, and stay with her; the kind of relationship Eponine seemed capable of was enchanting. He sighed and let himself fall asleep, until Bossuet knocked on his door, dragged him downstairs, and fed him, Courfeyrac, and Jehan pumpkin pie. Combeferre checked his phone while he ate, then forced Bossuet to sit while he made sure he did not have a concussion or anything; Joly’s worried texts were not uncommon, but Combeferre often did his best to make up for Joly’s overreactive, hypochondriacatic (though neither of those words was actually real) absence when he was at work.

Bossuet took two slices of his pie - which, thanks to Jehan’s quick thinking saving the day, turned out quite good - up to the attic. He knocked on the door lightly with his forehead and waited for Enjolras to open it. When he did, the blond looked at him with what Bossuet could only describe as intense, aggressive frustration. Enjolras stared at him, then the pie, then him again.

“I brought you pie,” Bossuet explained needlessly. Enjolras stepped out of the way, allowing Bossuet into the attic. Grantaire was hiding under the covers on their bed. “How you feeling, big guy?”

“I’m fine,” Grantaire’s voice said from the nest of blankets before he broke into a coughing fit. Enjolras’ brow furrowed, and Bossuet recognized that look. He pat the blankets where he assumed Grantaire’s head was, ended up smacking his ass, and left in a hurry after that. Enjolras shut the door behind him.

“He brought us pie,” Enjolras informed Grantaire, pulling the blankets off of his boyfriend. Grantaire scowled at him and grabbed at the covers.

“It’s cold,” Grantaire said sadly. He tugged at the blankets and pulled them back around himself when Enjolras let them go. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Enjolras asked, honestly not sure how, exactly, he was looking at Grantaire. The artist made a snuffling noise and buried back into the covers again.

“Like I’m a disease,” Grantaire answered, his tone bitter.

“But you’re sick.”

“I’m disgusting, and we both know it.” Grantaire coughed again. “You don’t have to be here.”

“I want to be here.” Enjolras sat on the edge of their bed and rubbed Grantaire’s back as the artist coughed and tried to regain his breath. “Honestly. You’re not disgusting.”

“Yes, I am,” Grantaire sighed. His head reappeared from his nest. “What are you playing at? I’ve known you for a few years now, and anytime any of us is sick, we can’t find you unless you catch it or it blows over. What’s different now?”

“Well, for starters, you,” Enjolras began. Grantaire nodded slightly. “Plus, you know, this isn’t as bad as you seem to think it is.”

The look Grantaire gave him was dramatically exasperated. “I feel like shit inside. I must look like shit outside.”

“Untrue,” Enjolras murmured, pulling the blankets off of Grantaire again. The brunette let out a sad noise before Enjolras climbed on top of them and pulled the covers back over the both of them. Grantaire stared up at him with blank confusion.

“But I’m-”

“Stop talking,” Enjolras whispered before he claimed Grantaire’s mouth. His artist moaned and arched his back, pushing his body upwards to meet Enjolras’. The blond made a noise low in his throat and grabbed at Grantaire’s pants, since his chest was already bare. Grantaire had more than enough work ahead of him, since Enjolras had just gotten back from work about an hour ago and was still fully dressed. He pulled off Enjolras’ clothes with possibly-record speed - he would have to check the books later, of course - and was soon receiving a line of hard kisses down his chest. Enjolras bit at his warm, flushed skin, and Grantaire’s eyes slipped shut.

“Jesus,” Grantaire groaned, tangling his hands in Enjolras’ hair. His blond flickered his bright blue eyes up once before he took Grantaire into his mouth at once. Grantaire inhaled sharply and fought the urge to push his hips up. Enjolras got the hint regardless and began moving his head, mouth, and tongue obscenely, drawing noises from Grantaire that were half-strangled with coughing. His focus on bringing Grantaire to the edge was so strong that when Grantaire fell off of it, he fell hard and fast. Enjolras swallowed him down before dragging himself back up to kiss Grantaire firmly.

“Feel better?” Enjolras asked, his voice rough. Grantaire opened his eyes and blinked several times in rapid succession to try and focus his vision. When his eyes finally focused, they did so on Enjolras.

“About myself, yes. In general, no,” Grantaire answered honestly. His voice was harsh and torn, from coughing and from the noises Enjolras had ripped out of him, and he found it difficult to get his normal voice back. Enjolras kissed him again before he pulled away and allowed Grantaire to tuck himself into the blond’s side. “Let me-”

“No, I’m fine, really,” Enjolras insisted. Grantaire reached down anyways, ducking his head under their covers to see properly as he took Enjolras into his hand. Enjolras came embarrassingly quickly, but, judging by how Grantaire licked smugly at his palm, it was not all bad.

“I hope you don’t get sick,” Grantaire commented, once they had rediscovered their pie and destroyed it. Enjolras hummed absently, already half-asleep, his fingertips tracing the bow and arrow inked right underneath Grantaire’s left clavicle. “Joly’ll beat me if you do.”

“You’ll deserve it,” Enjolras mumbled in response, burying his face in Grantaire’s side. Grantaire trailed his hand up and down Enjolras’ back, playing the muscles there like they were the strings of a guitar. He tipped his head down when Enjolras’ voice vanished to discover that his boyfriend had fallen asleep. Grantaire pressed his lips to the top of Enjolras’ head and let himself fall asleep, as well.

Downstairs, Bossuet was washing the dishes with Jehan. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had gone into the living room to discuss something about half an hour ago, and when Jehan went to check on them ten minutes ago, they had fallen asleep together on the sofa. He had returned to Bossuet and began washing dishes with him. Bossuet looked down at Jehan’s hands in the sink, his sleeves having been pushed up to his elbows, and realized he had a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. He pointed it out curiously, and Jehan raised his hand up. Soapy water dripped down his arm and off his elbow.

“Doesn’t R have that tattoo?” Bossuet asked. The tattoo was on the inside of his right wrist, whereas Grantaire’s was on the inside of his left forearm, but they were similar in size - rather small - and they were the same design - three blocks spelling out “A”, “B”, and “C”. However, whereas Grantaire’s was red, blue, and yellow for the primary colors, Jehan’s were various shades of green.

Jehan nodded. “We designed them together and went together. We got them to symbolize how much... what this group has done for us, you know?”

“I do,” Bossuet agreed softly. “Why’d you change the colors?”

Jehan blushed. “Green is Courfeyrac’s favorite color.”

Bossuet nodded understandingly and went back to drying the dishes Jehan was handing him. It took him a couple minutes before he made another comment. “Your eyes are green.”

Jehan’s eyes widened slightly, and the plate he was holding slipped into the soapy water in the sink. Bossuet laughed as Jehan’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ shape.

“Surely you noticed that,” Bossuet teased. Jehan shook his head, dislodging one of the clips that was keeping his hair up. Bossuet wiped his hands off and fixed the clip for him. Jehan stole Bossuet’s towel and dried his hands before he kissed Bossuet’s dark cheek.

“Can you finish the dishes for me? I want to go talk to Courfeyrac,” Jehan asked softly. Bossuet grinned knowingly at him.

“Sure thing,” Bossuet agreed easily. Jehan kissed his cheek again before disappearing into the living room. Bossuet continued washing the dishes by himself, content with how his day went, despite the fact that obscene noises were coming from above his head already.

 


	31. The One Where Paintball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eponine has to stay home, Enjolras makes a rookie mistake, Grantaire's head wrap is plenty protection, thanks, and Jehan explains things which make no sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wildfirelies requested the group playing laser tag. I was promised I would be loved forever if I did this. However, I changed laser tag to paintball. I hope I still receive eternal love.
> 
> Also, I don't care about grammar right now. Hence "The One Where Paintball".

“But why can’t I come?” Eponine whined, trailing after Joly like a sad puppy. Joly turned around and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“I told you. Because it’s dangerous, and I don’t want you taking any chances. Okay?” Joly leaned in and kissed Eponine’s cheek before continuing on his journey to the living room. Eponine swerved and latched onto Grantaire, who wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

“What’s wrong?” Grantaire asked, dipping his head down to meet her eyes. Eponine pulled a sad face.

“Joly’s not letting me come,” Eponine pouted. Grantaire frowned.

“That’s probably for the best.” At Eponine’s dramatically offended face, Grantaire hurriedly continued talking. “I’ll stay home with you, how’s that?”

“Much better.” Eponine grinned at him. Bossuet stepped up.

“Hey, if you want, I wasn’t really planning on going anyways. I’m no good at paintball. I can stay here with you,” Bossuet offered. Eponine looked from Grantaire to Bossuet before she shifted, latching onto the bald man instead. Grantaire stuck his tongue out at her.

“I see how it is,” Grantaire sighed theatrically. Eponine laughed as Bossuet swept her up and carried her off. Courfeyrac came over and threw Grantaire’s vest at him.

“Get ready and make sure Enjolras is ready to go,” Courfeyrac instructed. Grantaire nodded, pulling his arms and head through the vest and strapping it up. He accepted the goggles, head wrap, and gloves Gavroche passed him as he began his search for Enjolras. He found the blond in the den, curled around his laptop.

“Are you ready to go?” Grantaire asked, picking up Enjolras’ vest off the armchair and tossing it to him. Enjolras caught it in one hand and clicked at something on his laptop before he shut the screen.

“Yeah, just give me a second,” Enjolras replied as he tugged his vest on. Grantaire tossed him his helmet and his gloves before he pulled on his head wrap.

“You’re going down. I hope you know that,” Grantaire teased. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see about that,” Enjolras said simply, yanking his gloves on and tucking his helmet under his arm. “Is everything ready?”

“Guns are in Courfeyrac’s trunk. We separated the seating arrangements. Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Combeferre are taking Courfeyrac’s shitbox, Joly and Musichetta are taking Musichetta’s little car, Feuilly, Cosette, Marius, and Bahorel are taking Bahorel’s jackass-mobile, and we are taking my bike.” Grantaire informed him. Enjolras threw him an exasperated look.

“Why do we have to take your motorcycle? It’s dangerous,” Enjolras argued. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him before he walked out of the room. Enjolras followed after him. “I’m serious!”

“So am I. I’ve been riding my bike since before I even met you. I’m good at it and it’s not dangerous.” Grantaire turned around and frowned at Enjolras, crossing his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to ride with me. You can ride with Courfeyrac, they’ve got an extra seat for you.”

Enjolras’ attention was drawn over Grantaire’s shoulder, where Jehan was motioning wildly to him. Enjolras’ brow furrowed slightly, and Jehan rolled his eyes before he just shook his head furiously. Enjolras refocused on Grantaire.

“I still want to ride with you,” Enjolras said hesitantly. Jehan gave him a thumbs-up before Courfeyrac appeared and stole his attention, pulling the poet’s hair up with thin pins and tugging a helmet over his head. Grantaire leaned in and kissed him deeply, but only for a moment.

“Good. Get your ass out there.” Grantaire gave Enjolras one more swift kiss before he vanished to grab his keys. Enjolras blinked after him and made a face at Jehan, then made his way outside.

* * *

“Die, Nazi scum!” Courfeyrac shrieked, aiming at Combeferre, who rolled out of the way with ease. He popped up behind a boulder and squinted against the sunlight.

“What’s the plot, again?” Combeferre asked. Jehan appeared behind a log, stretching up so that his head was visible.

“Courfeyrac is Captain America, you and Enjolras are Red Skull and Hitler, I am the Winter Soldier, Grantaire is Eva Braun-” Jehan ignored the angry noise Grantaire made from somewhere behind a tree nearby, “-Marius is Mussolini, Cosette is Clara Petacci... Uhm... I think Bahorel decided he wanted to be Thor, Feuilly is Jack Sparrow, Joly is Mr. Spock, and Musichetta is Captain Kirk.” Jehan shrugged. “Nothing really made sense once Enjolras became Hitler.”

“I resent that!” Enjolras called from somewhere up in the tree Grantaire was hiding behind. Courfeyrac waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Is everyone set on what’s going on?” Courfeyrac asked. Everyone murmured in agreement before Marius appeared from the middle of a bush.

“Why are we all fighting? And how did Spock and Kirk get involved?” Marius looked around in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s some sort of time-travel _Butterfly Effect_ thing, dear,” Cosette’s high voice explained, seemingly coming from everywhere. Courfeyrac tensed and aimed his paintball gun at the sky. “You alright now?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Marius answered before ducking back into the bush. Everyone disappeared once more, and Enjolras slipped out of his tree, landing on his feet on the ground and aiming at Musichetta, who had foolishly exposed herself. Joly stepped in from the side, like a velociraptor, and aimed at Enjolras. Enjolras shot Musichetta in the chest anyways, staining it with bright red, but he did not get hit by Joly’s fire; instead, Grantaire jumped in the line of fire, falling backwards at the sudden impact of yellow paint against his head. Enjolras raised his hand for a ceasefire before pushing his helmet up and kneeling beside Grantaire.

“You alright?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire blinked up at him, his eyes unfocusing then refocusing on Enjolras’ face. He frowned.

“Shit. Was I hit?” Grantaire turned his head to the side and made a face at Joly. “Hell, man. Fix your aim.”

“You’re shorter than Enjolras! Sorry!” Joly called. Enjolras held out a hand, and Grantaire grabbed his wrist and allowed Enjolras to pull him up. Musichetta appeared in front of him, her helmet already pulled off and held under her arm.

“Want to go to the snack bar?” Musichetta asked. Grantaire grinned and offered her his arm, which she took enthusiastically.

“You know I do,” Grantaire replied, waving goodbye at Enjolras before vanishing with Musichetta, the both of them still stained with paint. Joly stared after them for a moment before he dove behind a boulder. Enjolras dragged his helmet back into place and scaled the tree again. He called an end to the ceasefire, and Feuilly and Jehan tag-teamed to swing up into the tree and shove Enjolras out of it. Courfeyrac attacked, screaming nonsense at Enjolras as he fired green paintballs. Combeferre sprung up and pelted everyone he could see with blue paint. People started shooting up left and right, firing at will. Once all the pellets were gone, everyone seemed confused.

“Who won?” Bahorel asked, looking down at the rainbow on his chest. Jehan shrugged delicately and pulled his helmet off. His hair was a pinned mess underneath, falling down in some places.

“I think Combeferre lasted the longest,” Enjolras informed them breathlessly. Bahorel lifted his blond friend up off the ground and set him on his feet. Enjolras scowled at him. Combeferre grinned triumphantly at his friends, letting his gun fall to his side, held loosely in his hand.

“Viva la ‘Ferre!” Jehan cheered. He and Courfeyrac tackled Combeferre to the ground, and Combeferre soon found himself at the bottom of a pile of his friends. Enjolras took a picture of them on his phone and sent it to Eponine, who was currently too busy hiding in a pillow fort with Bossuet, Gavroche, and Alphonse to see the image.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was just a short interlude. I hope you liked it!
> 
> Also, sorry about all the World War II. I'm a big WWII buff and I just can't.
> 
> P.S. My headcanon teams for when everyone plays are as follows:  
> \- Grantaire and Enjolras  
> \- Eponine and Combeferre  
> \- Courfeyrac and Gavroche  
> \- Joly and Jehan  
> \- Bossuet and Musichetta  
> \- Bahorel and Feuilly  
> \- Marius and Cosette
> 
> But they probably change teams all the time, just for fun and because Courfeyrac can't bring himself to hit Jehan and Gavroche is scary good and Musichetta is really good at distracting people and stuff like that. I'm sorry, I'm tired.


	32. The One Where A Lot Of Stuff All Happens At Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Combeferre is fantastic in bed, Eponine is not an invalid, thank you very much, Enjolras is conflicted, and Grantaire is a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked at my list of prompts.  
> I looked at my list of personal ideas.  
> I looked at where I want this story to go.
> 
> I wrote this chapter anyways.

“Jesus Christ,” Eponine breathed. Combeferre smiled at her, still trying to catch his breath, and Eponine could not help but laugh. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

“Because I worry about you,” Combeferre replied. He rolled up onto his side and kissed her forehead.

“Don’t worry about me anymore,” Eponine threatened weakly. “Jesus. Seriously.”

“Are you alright?” Combeferre asked, slightly worried. Eponine pressed their foreheads together and grinned.

“I am beyond alright.” Eponine seemed to be unable to stop smiling, even as she yawned. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re so fucking good at sex?”

“It never came up?” Combeferre answered hesitantly, his voice lilting up at the end as though he were asking a question. Eponine laughed and bit Combeferre’s bottom lip. “I really should surprise you more.”

“If all my surprises like that, I’d welcome it,” Eponine assured him eagerly. Combeferre kissed her softly before sitting up and looking at the clock.

“I hate to just leave, but you kind of jumped me while I was telling you I had to go to work. Now I’m going to be late.” Combeferre held himself up over her and gave her one last, long kiss. “I’ll text you, and I’ll be back in the morning around seven.”

“Night shifts suck,” Eponine groaned softly. Combeferre climbed out of bed and began tugging his clothes on. He looked down at her as he buttoned his jeans.

“I know they do. But I’ll be back soon enough. You won’t even know, you’ll be sleeping and, suddenly, I’ll be home.” Combeferre bent over and gave her a soft, quick kiss before he turned away and pulled his shirt on over his head. “I’ll be back in no time.”

“You better be,” Eponine grumbled at him. He just smiled and pulled the blankets up around her. As soon as Combeferre was gone, Eponine grabbed her phone and called Grantaire.

“What the hell do you want?” Grantaire mumbled tiredly into the phone. Eponine snorted.

“Get down here. You’re sleeping in my bed tonight because I’m lonely and I have news.” Eponine ordered. Grantaire made a confused noise.

“News? But I’m with Enjolras and he-”

“I slept with Combeferre,” Eponine stated bluntly. Grantaire was silent for a long moment.

“I’ll be right down,” Grantaire promised before hanging up. Eponine dropped her phone onto her nightstand and waited the four minutes before Grantaire showed up in her room. His hair was a mess, all he had on was a pair of pajama pants that looked suspiciously like they might belong to Enjolras, and there was a number of marks trailing down from his neck to his hips.

“It’s about time,” Eponine shot. The effect was ruined by her smile. Grantaire shut the door behind him and crawled into bed with her; she automatically tucked her head under his chin, despite the warm August weather.

“Tell me everything,” Grantaire insisted. Eponine began talking excitedly into the skin of Grantaire’s chest.

“I got home from the cafe, and he was already here, and he was getting ready for work. His shirt was too tight and he just looked really, really good...” Eponine trailed off. Grantaire nudged her. “Right, sorry. I just kissed him, and he went to say something, but then he made this _noise_ instead, and it was just over.”

“Shit,” Grantaire laughed. “Congrats.”

“Thanks,” Eponine murmured into his warm skin. Grantaire nudged her again. “What?”

“So?” Grantaire urged. Eponine tipped her head back to look up at Grantaire with confusion. He rolled his eyes. “How is he? He’s literally the only one we know nothing sexual about.”

Eponine hesitated before her face split into a grin. “He’s _fantastic_.”

Grantaire gasped theatrically. “Do tell.”

“Seriously. I’m not fucking around.” Eponine sat up excitedly, dragging Grantaire up with her. He leaned against the headboard, and Eponine rested against his chest, her hands dragging absently over her stomach. “He was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything quite like that.”

“How many times did you-”

“Four.” Eponine held up four fingers to prove her point. “I’m not lying, I swear to _God_.”

“Maybe _I_ need to have sex with Combeferre,” Grantaire laughed. Eponine smacked his chest.

“I know for a fact that you’ve done at least that with Enjolras.”

“And how do you know that for a fact?” Grantaire asked, frowning down at her. Eponine grimaced.

“Because I can hear you. _From the second floor_.” Eponine informed him dryly. Grantaire smirked proudly. “Now, let me get some sleep. Your kid’s kicking the crap out of me.”

“Just like her mom,” Grantaire teased. Eponine hit his chest again.

“Don’t call me her mom.” Eponine sat up and glared at Grantaire. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Grantaire replied soothingly. He pulled her back to him and slid them down so they were horizontal again. “It’s going to be okay. Just get some sleep.”

Eponine did not have to be asked twice. She fell asleep with Grantaire stroking her hair.

* * *

“Grantaire,” Eponine hissed, kicking at him before she hurled herself out of bed. “Wake up, asshole. Grantaire!”

“What?” Grantaire asked, pushing himself up on his elbows groggily. His eyes were still closed. “You alright?”

“No, I’m not fucking alright,” Eponine spat. Grantaire rubbed at his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Grantaire asked as forced himself into a fully sitting position. “Do you need me to call 911?”

“I need you to wake up someone with a car, because we’re not taking your motorcycle,” Eponine ordered. Grantaire blinked and stared at her.

“We’re not taking my motorcycle where?” Grantaire asked, his voice still tired. Eponine shoved at him to get him out of the bed.

“To the hospital. Keep up.” Eponine pulled at his hands until he was standing. Grantaire ran a hand through his hair and yawned.

“And why are we going to the hospital?” Grantaire followed Eponine with his head, turning slightly when she moved around him to grab her bag.

“Because my water broke,” Eponine informed him as she passed him again. Grantaire finally seemed to wake up, and he moved to where his bureau would be if he were in his room, only to find Gavroche’s closet.

“Shit. I need clothes.” Grantaire turned around. “I will wake up Cosette, we’ll take Marius’ car. Okay?”

“Good. I’ll just go downstairs.” Eponine allowed Grantaire to kiss her cheek before he slid out of the room on his bare feet. Eponine swung her bag up over her shoulder and shuffled downstairs in the dark, trying to navigate the steps in the night. Marius was at her side before she knew it, taking hold of her elbow and helping her despite her protests. They had just made it downstairs when Cosette dragged Grantaire by them.

“Should someone get Enjolras?” Marius asked, looking over Eponine’s head at Grantaire. Grantaire hesitated.

“I- He never said if he wanted to be there,” Grantaire confessed. Cosette pat his back soothingly.

“Marius, you drive them in your car and I’ll wake up Enjolras. We’ll get Jehan and Courf if he wants to go, and we’ll come together.” Cosette kissed Grantaire’s cheek, then Eponine’s, then Marius’. “We’ll see you soon. Be safe, good luck.”

Marius nodded to her and continued helping Eponine out to his car, despite her smacking at his hands and her repeated insistences that she was not an invalid, thank you very much. Grantaire had to admire Marius; he was remarkably calm. Certainly much calmer than he felt. Marius helped Eponine climb into the backseat with Grantaire before he climbed into the driver’s seat. Eponine let Grantaire buckle her and himself in before she leaned against his chest, her brow furrowed.

“I did research, Grantaire, and as long as I consent to it, there can be just one parent on the birth certificate,” Eponine informed him. She tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “I want you to be the only one. Okay?”

“Whatever you want,” Grantaire promised. Eponine nodded and let Grantaire kiss her forehead before she sat up suddenly.

“Somebody has to call Combeferre!” Eponine exclaimed. Marius fished around in his pockets and handed his phone back to Grantaire, who immediately dialed Combeferre’s number from memory and listened to the line ring. When Combeferre’s recorded voice started talking, Grantaire mouthed _'voicemail'_ at Eponine before leaving a message explaining what was going on, where they would be, and that he or Marius would call when they had more information. He hung up and passed the phone back to Marius, who was attempting to say in the legal speed limits. However, every time Eponine made a pained noise, he involuntarily sped up.

They were at the hospital in what Grantaire was sure was a shorter amount of time than normal. He and Marius each took one of Eponine’s arms and helped her into the hospital, where Grantaire took Marius’ jacket upon realizing he still had no shirt on and slung Eponine’s bag over his shoulder.

“Which one of you is the father?” a nurse asked Grantaire and Marius. Grantaire raised his hand like an awkward schoolboy.

“Uhh, that’s me,” Grantaire answered hesitantly. Eponine grabbed the hand that was still by his side and looked up at him with teary eyes. Grantaire blinked at her; this was so far out of his league that he wondered if he was dreaming.

“Stay with me,” Eponine pleaded. Grantaire nodded jerkily and met Marius’ eyes for a moment before he was led away with Eponine, who had been dropped into a wheelchair, which was being pushed by two excited nurses.

Grantaire would later swear he had never had such a terrifying experience. Eponine would hit him and say he had absolutely no idea what terror was. He would swear Eponine burst his eardrums, and he would swear he thought it would never end. When it did end, though, Eponine refused to hold the girl, insisting Grantaire be the first one to have her. After six hours, it felt like a tremendous relief to both of them for it to be over.

Grantaire was used to this whole “love at first sight” thing. He had experienced it when he met Enjolras. He had watched it happen to Marius and Cosette, to Courfeyrac and Jehan. He had seen it in Marius’ and Cosette’s eyes when Alphonse was born. He thought his whole life would be dedicated to Enjolras; then again, he never, ever though he would have a kid. He definitely believed in love at first sight, but the purest love he had ever felt was when he first held his daughter. _His._ It was still weird. It was so strange to think this dark-haired, bright-eyed, disgusting little child was _his_ and that was going to be true for the rest of his life. He felt oddly stable, like he had a tether to the Earth. Eponine just watched him until he started breathing again.

“Have you decided on a name?” Eponine asked once the nurses took the newborn from Grantaire. He fell heavily into the chair next to her and pulled his gloves off. He ran his hands through his hair and looked up at her, his head still hanging slightly.

“I’m going to name her Aurelie,” Grantaire informed her. Eponine frowned at him, and he waved her off. “We’ll just call her Ellie. I wanted to name her something French, and I wanted her name to meaning something.”

“What’s it mean?” Eponine tipped her head to the side, and Grantaire passed her a water bottle.

“It means ‘dawn’.” Grantaire leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Nice symbolism,” Eponine replied before continuing to gulp down her water. “Giving her a middle name?”

“Apolline. Means ‘gift from Apollo’.” Grantaire hesitated. “Don’t tell Enjolras.”

“My lips are sealed,” Eponine promised. A man in scrubs entered the room then, a clipboard full of forms in his hands, and Eponine waved him off, motioning towards Grantaire. “It’s his kid, he’s got all the information.”

The man looked confused, but Grantaire pulled him over and explained that he was going to be the only parent. The nurse nodded and helped Grantaire fill out the form while Eponine half-looked on and half-watched the door, waiting for Combeferre or Marius or, for Grantaire’s sake, Enjolras.

Aurelie was back before anyone else showed up, and Eponine allowed herself to hold the baby now. The tiny thing had a hospital bracelet with Grantaire’s name stamped onto it; that made it a little bit easier. She kissed the newborn’s forehead and passed her over to Grantaire, who started walking back and forth across the length of the room, bouncing Aurelie slightly as he did so, humming under his breath, just like he did when he babysat Alphonse. Eponine shut her eyes until there was a knock at the door.

“Hi, guys,” Marius greeted. Cosette moved around him to kiss Eponine’s forehead before she began to coo over the sleeping baby Grantaire was holding. Grantaire passed her over, despite his reluctance, and Cosette grinned widely at the baby. Marius made faces over Cosette’s shoulder, despite the fact that Aurelie was asleep. He kissed Cosette’s temple before moving to talk to Eponine, sitting on the edge of her bed and taking her hand as they spoke. The room was soon full of people, all of whom Eponine glared at until Combeferre showed up and she fell asleep around him as they both lay in her little hospital bed.

Jehan was holding Aurelie, with Courfeyrac standing directly in front of him, kissing Jehan’s forehead, when Enjolras came in. His hair was mussed and his eyes were dark, and Grantaire could not help but wonder where he had been.

“You look like hell,” Grantaire laughed. Enjolras’ focus latched onto him, and he weaved through their friends to reach Grantaire where he sat.

“You don’t look any better,” Enjolras replied before looking over his shoulder, searching their friends. “Where is she?”

Jehan stepped forward eagerly, tucking Aurelie into Enjolras’ arms. Grantaire was briefly thankful that Enjolras had gotten his cast off three weeks prior. The contrast of their light and dark heads was almost shocking when Enjolras bent his head down to look at her face, and Grantaire smiled involuntarily.

“What do you think?” Grantaire asked, heaving himself up out of his chair and moving over to Enjolras. The room was silent while everyone listened.

“She’s beautiful,” Enjolras said softly. He looked up at Grantaire. The artist could swear that he had never seen a smile that bright on Enjolras’ face before.

“She is,” Grantaire agreed, dropping his eyes from Enjolras down to the newborn. “Her name’s Aurelie.”

“It’s perfect,” Enjolras assured him. His eyes lingered on Grantaire’s face for a moment before they fell down to Aurelie’s. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire murmured. Enjolras cleared his throat and handed Aurelie back over to Grantaire. He ran a hand through his hair. Grantaire situated _his_ daughter against his chest and sat down in the chair. He watched Aurelie for about fifteen minutes before he fell asleep sitting up. Enjolras stepped forward and took Aurelie from him. You know, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all good. I live in Massachusetts, so I know today was a scary day. I hope everyone's alright.


	33. The One Where Grantaire Needs Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marius is sympathetic, Aurelie is uncompromising, Grantaire hasn't slept for a little while, and Enjolras saves the day (or, rather, night).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something short. Can you tell I'm tired? You can probably tell that I'm really tired.

Grantaire paced back and forth across the space of the nursery tiredly, his shoulders slumped over. Marius was asleep in the chair in the corner, his son asleep with him in his arms. Grantaire paused in his pacing to pull Alphonse up in one hand and place him in his crib. Marius still did not stir, so Grantaire bent over and shook him by the shoulder.

“Mm?” Marius blinked blearily until his eyes focused on Grantaire. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hey,” Grantaire replied. “You wanna go t'bed?”

“I do.” Marius looked down at Aurelie with a surprised expression. “Has she been screaming this whole time?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire answered, rubbing his free hand over his face. Marius frowned sympathetically.

“How’d I sleep through that?” Marius asked, standing up and cracking his back.

“Beyond me. You sleep like a rock, though,” Grantaire laughed sleepily. Marius pat him on the shoulder.

“Let me know if you need anything.” Marius paused. “But, mate, please don’t need anything.”

“Gotcha.” Grantaire returned his attention to the screaming girl he was holding. Marius kissed Aurelie’s head before he left to go to sleep. Grantaire remained behind, trying to walk, bounce, and sing in his exhausted state. He was not even sure how much time passed between Marius leaving and Enjolras coming in, leaning in the doorway, crossing his arms, and watching Grantaire for quite a while before he was noticed.

“Never thought I’d say this, but I don’t think I can fall asleep without you there,” Enjolras informed Grantaire, coming into the room and tucking his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. He motioned towards Aurelie with his chin. “Is she okay?”

“I dunno what’s wrong,” Grantaire replied desperately. Enjolras came in closer and craned his neck to look at the newborn.

“I read,” Enjolras began, keeping his eyes on Aurelie, “that babies pick up on how their parents feel. And you’re tired and stressed out, and I know that because this is probably the fourth night in a row you haven’t been in bed.”

Grantaire leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Enjolras’. “You’ve been readin' about babies and stuff that’s not all pol'tics?”

“Combeferre made me,” Enjolras defended. Grantaire smiled sleepily at him.

“I think 's'nice,” Grantaire murmured, his eyes slipping shut for a moment before he startled awake and returned his focus to Aurelie. Enjolras bit back a sigh before he pulled Aurelie from Grantaire’s arms and held her against his chest. “What’re you-”

“I got some sleep last night, and I finished my essay, so I’m in a better position than you right now.” Enjolras looked down at Aurelie with some confusion, not entirely sure what he had to do. Luckily, she quieted down just a little bit from switching to him, and she was now staring at him with large, wet, brown eyes. Grantaire sighed heavily and let his head fall forward onto Enjolras’ shoulder.

“‘jolras, you’re a god,” Grantaire mumbled. “We’ve gotta take ‘er upstairs, she’s still gotta sleep near me.”

“I know. I read.” Enjolras shifted Grantaire so he was standing up on his own, swaying slightly though he was. “Come on, upstairs. Go.”

Grantaire nodded blearily and wandered up the three sets of stairs almost aimlessly to the attic, with surprisingly minimal prodding from Enjolras to stay on course. He reached out once he reached their room and took Aurelie from Enjolras. Enjolras watched as Grantaire touched his forehead to the baby’s and said something softly before he kissed her forehead and put her in her crib. Enjolras sat down on the edge of the bed. Grantaire started tiredly pulling his clothes off, but his arm got stuck in his bright red work shirt. Enjolras reached out and took his hand, tugging him over until he was standing between Enjolras’ legs. He reached up and helped Grantaire out of his work clothes as quickly and efficiently as he could. Once Grantaire was down to his boxers, he slumped heavily into Enjolras’ lap.

“‘m tired,” Grantaire mumbled into Enjolras’ neck. Enjolras nodded and helped him back against the mattress. Grantaire sighed and pushed himself under the blankets. “J’sus.”

“I know,” Enjolras said softly, fixing the covers around the both of them. Though it was early August, the attic got drafty and too cool at night. Grantaire pushed his head forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of Enjolras’ lips before he fell asleep. Enjolras kissed his forehead and waited until he was sure Aurelie was completely asleep before he followed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom. Please let me know if you like how this is going. I'm worried I've ruined this because I ruin everything I touch. I'm like a monster but like my skin is toxic or something. Okay I swear I'm not drunk or anything I'm just so tired. I'll probably regret everything here after I get some sleep. Okay goodnight guys sorry


	34. The One Where We Get Some Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jehan seeks to reassure, everyone learns a little bit more about their adopted family than they did before, Grantaire worries about the future, and 'Mulan' is viewed (for a little while).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MeepWhut commented very politely with a request, which read as follows:
> 
> "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to request? I found it interesting how abusive fathers seemed to be a common theme among Grantaire, Eponine, and Courfeyrac. It'd be interesting to get more insight. In which E speaks to R's dad for the first time, Eponine tells a story, and Jehan learns a thing or two? Or however you'd like to have it, of course."
> 
> This is not quite that, but I built this off of that. I like the idea of Enjolras meeting and/or speaking to Grantaire's dad, so I'm going to save that one, but this is something a bit different.

Feuilly came home to find everyone camped out in living room, watching _Mulan_ like the children they secretly - or, in Courfeyrac’s case, blatantly - are. He tossed his work bag aside and folded himself in between Cosette and Jehan on the floor.

“How was your day?” Jehan asked softly, turning his face away from the movie. Feuilly shrugged and slumped down tiredly, his back pressed against the bottom of the sofa.

“It was long,” Feuilly answered simply. Jehan took his hand and squeezed it before returning his attention to the movie, still holding Feuilly’s hand loosely in his. Feuilly looked around the room, taking in Cosette beside him, Marius’ head in her lap; Bahorel in an armchair, Alphonse in his lap; Grantaire in the other armchair, Aurelie tucked into one of his arms, his free hand tangled in Enjolras’ hair as the blond sits in front of the armchair, his back pressed up against it and his legs folded; Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta all crammed onto the sofa; Combeferre and Eponine folded around each other on the loveseat; Gavroche so deep in a beanbag that he was almost invisible; Jehan beside him, as well, Courfeyrac curled around him, seeming to be almost asleep. Feuilly pressed closer to Cosette and Jehan.

“I’m telling you, R, it’s weird,” Bahorel laughed. Grantaire pulled a face at him; Jehan sat up.

“What’s weird?” Jehan asked, looking between the two of them. Bahorel started laughing again, but Grantaire just smiled a little bit and yawned.

“Grantaire. With a kid. It’s weird, I just- You know?” Bahorel waved his free hand as a form of explanation. Grantaire shrugged.

“He’s not wrong, it is weird. Especially... Well, I didn’t have a great role model for this.” Grantaire shrugged. Enjolras wrapped a hand around Grantaire’s ankle. Jehan paused the movie; Courfeyrac frowned at him.

“You can talk to us, Grantaire,” Jehan said softly. Grantaire shook his head.

“I don’t need to talk about it. It’s fine,” Grantaire assured him. Jehan bit his lip. Grantaire sighed. “Jehan, it’s okay.”

“You’re upset,” Jehan murmured, looking down at his hands. “I want to help.”

“I don’t need help, Jehan. It’s alright. Really.” Grantaire waited until Jehan looked up and met his eyes. “It’s okay.”

“My mother died when I was seven,” Jehan said suddenly. Grantaire’s expression quickly became surprised, and the rest of the room looked at the poet. “After she died, my father was... less than fond of me. I look a lot like my mom, and I act a lot like her, and it made him mad.” Jehan looked down at his hands. “He’d hit me a lot. It just kind of... I didn’t want to upset him. I knew he missed my mom, and he just couldn’t handle it. So, I let him. He doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

“Jehan.” Grantaire’s voice was just about a whisper. Jehan shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I just want you to know that I understand,” Jehan assured him. Grantaire nodded jerkily.

“My dad abused me, too,” Courfeyrac spoke up. Jehan turned his head to look at Courfeyrac in surprise. Courfeyrac just nodded once. “I was five when he broke my arm, so my mum took me to Canada.”

“Courf,” Jehan said softly, pressing their foreheads together. Courfeyrac kissed his nose and leaned back.

“My parents were only really there when I was younger,” Eponine added. Gavroche looked up at her with wide eyes. “Until I was about two or three, they liked me enough. I was the oldest, so it wasn’t hard. I didn’t get a lot of attention, but when I did, it wasn’t bad. When Azelma was born, it got... different. They’d ignore both of us, and I tried to take care of her, I did, but I was still just a baby myself.” Eponine ran a hand through her long hair. “Once Gavroche was there, then Jean, then whoever they had after that - to be honest, I couldn’t keep track of it. They didn’t care. They’d either not be there, or they’d smack us around and make us work. We were more like slaves than kids.”

“It wasn’t fun.” Gavroche peeked out of his beanbag. “I hated them. The foster people were better. Especially where we met the Lark.”

“That’s me,” Cosette explained. “My mom died when I was little. She was... sick, and life was difficult. We struggled a lot. I got put in the system and was bounced around a bit before a friend of my mother’s adopted me. That’s Papa.” Cosette smiled a little and looked down at Marius’ hair.

“My parents never cared about me,” Enjolras said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. Grantaire raised an eyebrow down at him, but he kept talking, his eyes on his lap. “They were social climbers, and I got in the way of that. I was supposed to be quiet, be perfect, be everything they needed to look like they were the perfect family. I was a mistake that they intended to make the most of. I almost never saw them. I grew up alone, for the most part. The days I got to see Courfeyrac and Combeferre were the best days, and Courfeyrac’s mother and Combeferre’s parents were more parents to me than mine ever were.”

“My parents and I struggled,” Combeferre added. “We never had much money, but we had each other. They worked a lot, but they spent as much time with me as they could, and that was enough for me. I worked from a young age, but it was okay.”

“You were an adult too early,” Courfeyrac agree. He looked over at Enjolras. “Both of you were. My mum always hated that.”

“My parents were the same way, Enjolras,” Bossuet said. He leaned back, running his hand through Musichetta’s hair. “They didn’t give a shit about me. I raised myself, and I kind of did a terrible job of it. I left Seattle the second I could. Luckily, I found a new family almost as soon as I got here.” Bossuet kissed the top of Joly’s head.

“My family was okay.” Joly sat up slightly. “I’ve got two sisters. We never really had too many problems. I’m thankful for it.”

“Same,” Bahorel added. “I was alright.”

“My parents died when I was twelve,” Feuilly offered. “I got sent to a boy’s home after that, and I’ve been working since I can remember. The only reason I’m here is the shitload of scholarships I fought for.”

“I lived in Boston until I was seventeen,” Musichetta informed the group. “I never knew my dad, and I had to drop out of school because my mom got sick. I took over the Musain - it had been my grandmother’s, so my mom and I moved down here to help her run it. I used the money I made there and at my two other jobs to pay my mom’s hospital bills.” Musichetta looked down at her lap. “She died anyways, when I was nineteen, then my grandmother died when I was twenty. Now it’s just me and the Musain left.”

“My parents died when I was eight,” Marius added. “My grandfather took me in. When I met Eponine, he was worried I would go down a bad path. When I met Courfeyrac and all you guys, and I told him I wanted to help you all with this, do what you do, Enjolras... He disowned me. We haven’t spoken since.”

“My mom died a few years ago,” Grantaire finally offered. “She always fought with my dad to try to keep him from hurting me or my sister, but she would never leave him. She didn’t want to leave us alone. After she died of some genetic heart defect shit, my dad just went crazy on us. It was just over at the point. My sister won’t leave him, she loves him, she wants to _save_ him or some shit.” Grantaire ran his free hand through his hair and laughed humorlessly. “We’re all so fucked up, guys.”

“That’s okay,” Jehan said softly. He pulled away from Courfeyrac and crossed the room to wrap his arms gingerly around Grantaire. “It’s going to be okay.”

Grantaire let his face fall forward into Jehan’s shoulder, and he sighed heavily. “I know.”

“I want to go to bed,” Musichetta eventually said, her eyes casting around the room briefly before settling on nothing. After a beat of silence, there was a chorus of agreements, and everyone split apart to head for their bedrooms.

Combeferre crept into Eponine’s room, where she tiredly welcomed him into her bed with open arms. Gavroche slipped over, and Eponine reached out and pulled him against her, holding her brother tight until he fell asleep. Combeferre wrapped his arms around both of them, trying to protect them both.

Cosette was laying half-on top of Marius, fast asleep, but Marius could not bring himself to fall asleep. He stayed awake for a good part of the night, stroking Cosette’s hair absently with one hand, his other hand on the small of her back. Cosette slept soundly, and Marius watched over her.

Jehan had kissed Courfeyrac all over, leaving small marks in his wake; Courfeyrac had watched, unable to look away from Jehan, his hands always touching his skin, trying to keep him real. They fell asleep together, Courfeyrac’s back pressed to Jehan’s front, hair mingling, legs tangled. Jehan put his arms around Courfeyrac’s waist, and Courfeyrac’s hand - the one not tucked under his head - secured itself over Jehan’s on his stomach.

Bahorel had slipped into Feuilly’s room and took Combeferre’s bed. The two stayed up later than usual, and Bahorel listened to Feuilly tell stories about the boy’s home he had been in until the redhead fell asleep. Bahorel then stared out the window at the dark night sky until he drifted off.

Bossuet, Joly, and Musichetta lay together in their enormous bed, which took up the majority of their room just so the three of them could sleep comfortably together. Musichetta lay in between her two boys, as per usual. Bossuet had kissed them both before he fell asleep, but Joly was struggling to relax. Musichetta ran a hand through his hair soothingly until he smiled sleepily at her and fell asleep. She tangled her hand in his and took Bossuet’s hand in her free one; the press of their hands on hers helped her fall asleep within minutes.

Grantaire was curled up tightly around himself, tucked into a ball. One of his hands was reaching out, loosely grasping one of the bars of the crib beside his bed while he slept. Enjolras was wrapped around Grantaire, trying to protect him still from whatever dangers there might be, but especially from himself.

The night was quiet.


	35. The One Where They All Play Just Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eponine is surprisingly good, Marius is slightly unnerved, Grantaire and Gavroche are dancing fiends, and Feuilly pulls off the impossible (much to Grantaire's delight).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I suck. I get it. I'm alive, don't worry.
> 
> I'll do my best. Summer's almost here! I'll have so much time! 
> 
> This is for ladylegsenjolras, who requested what my shorthand-ish notes claim to be "Just Dance in which some are better dancers than others, Eponine/Cosette do a duet, Courfeyrac/Jehan do a duet."

Courfeyrac had been the one who set it all up. He then dragged Jehan downstairs and showed it to him eagerly, and the two of them had identical grins on their faces in seconds, their eyes shining like kids on Christmas. Courfeyrac had started the game while Jehan gathered everyone in the house and ushered them into the living room. Combeferre looked the most exhausted; he kept pushing his glasses up his face, seemingly not even noticing.

“I got us Just Dance,” Courfeyrac announced the moment everyone entered the room. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him, but the room was largely silent. Courfeyrac’s shoulders slumped a little. “Guys?”

“This is fucking awesome,” Eponine declared suddenly, grabbing Cosette’s hand and dashing forward to choose a song. Courfeyrac’s grin came back in full force.

“That is more like it.” Courfeyrac pointed at Jehan. “We are next.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jehan laughed. Eponine and Cosette ended up deciding on “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood; Marius looked vaguely unnerved, and he crossed his legs as he sat on the sofa. However, his jaw nearly dropped when he watched the two of them dance together, moving like they were choreographed and had been practicing the dance for months. Combeferre’s eyebrows rose nearly into his hairline, and he pushed his glasses up again with a suspiciously unsteady hand. Grantaire grinned at them and leaned back in the armchair, his arms bent behind his head as he watched.

Once they finished, Combeferre all but dragged Eponine into his lap when she came over, her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. He kissed her forcefully, and Courfeyrac laughed at them before dragging Jehan up to the screen. The two of them chose “Apache (Jump On It)” by Sugar Hill Gang without even needing to say anything. While Jehan has always been a fantastic dancer, and could have won the game for them, Courfeyrac was all over the place and having fun, so Jehan’s dancing quickly devolved into chaotic moves that matched nothing but Courfeyrac.

Grantaire stood up to take the next turn and motioned for Gavroche, who stood eagerly, high-fived Grantaire, and chose “Tribal Dance” by 2 Unlimited. The two of them, for some reason, those the highest levels of both difficulty and effort, and, though Grantaire’s character was a woman, the two of them got an insanely high score. Enjolras seemed shocked.

The game continued on like this for quite some time; the partners ended up being (besides Eponine and Cosette, Courfeyrac and Jehan, and Grantaire and Gavroche) Marius and Cosette, Joly and Musichetta, Bossuet and Musichetta, Jehan and Gavroche, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Eponine, Feuilly and Enjolras (much to Grantaire’s surprise, then joy), Grantaire and Enjolras, Bahorel and Bossuet, and Feuilly and Bahorel. They all went for singles, as well, but, in the end, Grantaire and Gavroche’s duet ended up maintaining the highest score.

 


	36. The One Where Aurelie Does Not Disagree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras gets little to no reading done, Aurelie does like bananas (but will never admit to it), Grantaire has to work, and family bonding occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiive
> 
> This is for ScarlettAngel, who said she would "love to see Enjolras having to look after Aurelie" because she could"just imagine him freaking out every so often and being adorable and shit". Sorry it's so short, ScarlettAngel! I hope you like it!

“I’m sure, Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated for the eighth time, his cell phone pressed in between his shoulder and his ear since his hands were full of an eerily silent Aurelie. “Yes, it’s going to be fine. Just get your work done and come back. She misses you.” Enjolras paused to listen. “Yes, I’m sure. Go to work. Love you, too.”

Enjolras shifted Aurelie, clicked his phone off, and set it down on the table. The four-month-old looked up at him and blinked with wide eyes. Enjolras raised an eyebrow, then held her up so she was in his eyeline.

“You’re going to be fine while your dad’s gone, aren’t you, Ellie?” Enjolras asked. He did not expect an answer, and Aurelie, unsurprisingly, did not give him one. “Well, I have some work to do, so you can stay with me while I do that. How’s that sound?” More silence. “I’m talking to myself, here. I’m crazy.”

Aurelie did not disagree.

* * *

Enjolras found himself glancing down at the girl sitting in his lap more often than he actually read from his textbook. She was pulling on the button on his jacket; she was tugging at a long, loose strand of his curly hair; she was clapping her hands together with intense focus and determination. Enjolras sighed and leaned back in his desk chair.

“Alright, I’m not getting this done,” Enjolras allowed. Aurelie lifted her head and smiled. Enjolras sighed again. “What do you want to do, then? We can play with that zebra pyramid thing Courfeyrac got you.”

Aurelie tilted her head slightly. Enjolras scooped her up out of his lap and moved to set her down on the bed. She sat up with only slight difficulty, her small hands fisted in the blanket as she leaned forward. Enjolras retrieved the aforementioned “zebra pyramid thing” and set it down in front of her. She stared at the toy, then Enjolras, then back to the toy expectantly. Enjolras fell down beside her on the bed and picked up one of the striped pieces.

“What do I do?” Enjolras mumbled, moving the piece around so the pyramid was out of order. Aurelie just stared as Enjolras created a picture with the pieces. He soon realized he was playing a game by himself. Aurelie smiled again, and reached forward, only to lose control of her shifted center of balance and fall head-first into the toy. Enjolras immediately began to fret, lifting her up and examining her forehead.

“You okay?” Enjolras asked nervously. Aurelie just blinked at him, surprised. Enjolras touched her soft cheek with his thumb. “You’re okay.”

Aurelie did not disagree.

* * *

“Please, just eat something,” Enjolras pleaded. Aurelie, true to form, stubbornly kept her mouth shut and turned her face away. Enjolras sighed, the small spoon falling back into the dish. “Grantaire said you liked banana best. I got the banana one.”

Aurelie’s hummingbird attention span focused on the shifting curtains. Enjolras threw his head into his hands, and she turned to him, attracted by the sudden motion. Enjolras lifted his head and pointed to the banana.

“You want some?” Enjolras asked. Aurelie smiled, her face messy, and opened her mouth. Enjolras perked up and lifted the tiny pink spoon to her mouth, which she promptly shut. Enjolras nearly shrieked in frustration as he dropped the spoon back into the bowl.

“You are impossible!” Enjolras exploded.

Aurelie did not disagree.

* * *

Enjolras had been drifting in and out of consciousness as he read, but he was shocked into wakefulness when Aurelie screamed. His head snapped up and he turned to the side slightly before locating the noise; Aurelie had accidentally flipped herself out of her playpen and was sitting, shocked, on the carpeted floor in front of the mesh playpen wall. Her face was red and she was _wailing_.

“Oh, no, no, no, don’t cry,” Enjolras begged, throwing himself out of the armchair and snatching her up. “It’s going to be okay, you’re not hurt, it’s alright.”

His words did nothing to assuage her; she continued to screech, her face covered in wet tears, and Enjolras shut his eyes for the briefest moment before he redoubled his efforts to calm her down. He pressed a cool, damp paper towel to her face for a second and hummed, like he had seen Grantaire do countless times. She hiccupped several times as he hummed, then stopped altogether, watching him as though this was the first time he had seen her. Enjolras breathed out a groan of relief.

“Thank God,” Enjolras sighed. “If you hurt yourself, Grantaire would never forgive me.”

Aurelie did not disagree.

* * *

Enjolras was relatively surprised when Aurelie actually fell asleep after he set her down for a nap, as Grantaire had instructed. He sat down in Cosette’s rocking chair and watched her somewhat nervously, as though she might explode or jump out of the crib at any second. When it seemed as though she may possibly just stay asleep for the time being, Enjolras snatched one of Marius’ books from the floor and began flipping through it.

“You have to appreciate Hermione’s side of things,” Enjolras muttered to himself as he thumbed through the pages.

Aurelie did not disagree.

* * *

“How was she?” Grantaire asked the second he stepped in the door. He dropped his satchel right there beside the door, toeing off his shoes in the same spot and leaving them there. Enjolras passed a smiling Aurelie over easily; the child clung to Grantaire as though she had not seen him in years.

“She was fine. We didn’t have any problems at all.” Enjolras smiled, just a little. “In fact, we had a great day. Didn’t we, Aurelie?”

Aurelie did not disagree.


	37. The One Where A Trip To The Zoo Is In Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aurelie is somewhat disinterested, Alphonse drools on Enjolras' jacket, Enjolras takes a good amount of pictures for Facebook, and Grantaire is easily excited by zoo animals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for darling tumblr user asterhythm, who asked "Can al and aurelie have a playdate like, at the zoo or something with E and R watching them?" to which I replied "OF COURSE", or something like that.
> 
> Sorry I haven't been doing much here lately. I'm alive! I won't abandon this!

“I don’t know how you got me roped into this,” Enjolras murmured, strapping Alphonse into the car seat Marius had provided him with. Grantaire’s head appeared over Aurelie’s seat.

“Do you really want me to take two small children to the zoo alone?” Grantaire asked, grinning widely. He pulled himself up over Aurelie’s seat to sit between the two infants. Enjolras rolled his eyes and shut the back doors of Joly’s van.

“No, I suppose not,” Enjolras replied, taking the driver’s seat for his own. Grantaire was asleep in the backseat in a minute. Enjolras drove to the zoo in near-silence.

* * *

“Is this a safe thing to do?” Enjolras inquired nervously, watching as Grantaire sat cross-legged in the middle of the cage. Alphonse stood at Grantaire’s side, holding himself up by clinging to Grantaire’s jacket sleeve; Aurelie sat up in his lap, her small hand reaching out to the goat that kept moving closer to the three. Enjolras leaned against the fence.

“If it wasn’t safe, they wouldn’t let us in,” Grantaire called back. He scratched behind the goat’s ears and watched patiently as another goat nosed at Alphonse’s cheek. The boy squealed in barely-contained joy; Enjolras let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

“What’s that?” Grantaire asked, pointing at the lizard in front of him. Neither Aurelie nor Alphonse answered, since neither had the capability for speech as of yet, but Enjolras answered for them.

“It’s a S-”

“It’s a dragon!” Grantaire exclaimed, startling both infants (that he was trying to hold at the same time). Alphonse stared up at him with wide Pontmercy eyes, but Aurelie started laughing, which started both of them laughing, which got Grantaire to laugh. Enjolras snapped a picture of the three of them in front of the dragon and posted it on Facebook from his phone.

* * *

“What the hell are those monkeys doing, R?”

“Shut up, Enjolras. Don’t look them in the eye.”

* * *

“What kind of a zoo has a slide?” Enjolras mused, staring up at the top of the sack slide. Grantaire was currently perched at the top, trying to wrestle his feet into the end of a sack. Aurelie was still attached to his front in her Baby Bjorn; Alphonse was in the same, just presently attached to Enjolras. Grantaire grinned and waved; Aurelie just stared blankly at her own feet.

Enjolras snapped a series of pictures on their way down, and three more at the end, when Grantaire and the attendant argued over who won, him or Aurelie. In the end, it was Aurelie who took the plastic medal, much to Grantaire’s delight. Enjolras posted the pictures to Facebook. Courfeyrac quickly made Aurelie’s disinterested face as she went down the slide his profile picture.

* * *

“What if they’re allergic to peanuts? We don't know yet they're not allergic,” Enjolras pointed out. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him like he was the stupidest Greek god to walk this Earth in the last millennia.

“It doesn’t matter, because the sandwiches are for us, not for the children who have no teeth,” Grantaire explained slowly, as though he were talking to a moron. Enjolras rolled his eyes and took a bite of his sandwich. Grantaire tried to persuade Alphonse to eat the squash Cosette had packed for him. Aurelie merrily fed herself Cheerios, which she shared with Enjolras when he asked nicely and tickled under her chin.

* * *

“They’re probably my favorites,” Grantaire whispered, his face pressed up against the glass wall of the dolphin tank. Aurelie, still in her Baby Bjorn, also had her face pressed against the glass, but she was roughly 95% asleep at the present time. Enjolras nodded and took a picture of them both, then took a selfie of himself and Alphonse. Cosette made it her profile picture. A dolphin pressed its nose against the glass near Grantaire’s face, prompting him to scream and wake up Aurelie, who promptly began to scream in reply. Enjolras took a Vine. Grantaire punched him in the arm.

* * *

“What if we just tell them that we didn’t see anything?” Enjolras suggested, even as Grantaire passed Aurelie off to him and hopped into the tiger’s exhibit to lift out the child that had fallen in. The young girl - evidently named “Mary”, judging by the number of times that her mother had screeched it - was easily reunited with her family. Grantaire, however, had to do some hardcore maneuvering to make his way out of the exhibit. The tiger, luckily, did not regard him as a threat, and just watched him with quiet disinterest. Enjolras took another photo. Courfeyrac had a new cover picture on Facebook.

* * *

“What if we get ice cream?” Grantaire asked excitedly, nearly hopping in his joy at discovering the ice cream stand. Enjolras shrugged, trying not to displace Alphonse, who had fallen asleep in his Baby Bjorn, tucked soundly against Enjolras’ chest. The red-haired little boy was drooling a bit on Enjolras’ jacket. He could not find it in him to be upset.

“Well, if we got ice cream, I presume you would be even more chaotic than you have been up until this point,” Enjolras answered, even as he led them into the ice cream shop, where a group of teenage girls cooed in their general direction. Grantaire soaked up the attention. Enjolras’ shirt soaked up Alphonse’s saliva. Aurelie accepted the mashed pieces of banana that the teenage girls gave them.

* * *

“This is the last exhibit,” Enjolras said softly near Alphonse’s ear. The child did not stir, but Grantaire looked up excitedly at the tanks of snakes lined up before him.

“I have to draw you,” Grantaire whispered to a python who was flickering his tongue sweetly. Aurelie smacked her hand against the glass. Enjolras took another Vine.

* * *

“Please don’t fall asleep this time,” Enjolras pleaded as he buckled his seat belt in the driver’s seat. “I know it’s been a long day, but if you st-”

A snorting sound cut him off. Enjolras turned around to discover that not only had Grantaire fallen asleep, but Alphonse and Aurelie as well. He sighed and took a couple of pictures before starting the drive home.


	38. The One Where It's Chilly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras is woken up, Grantaire doesn't wear t-shirts under his hoodie, everything smells like smoke and charcoal, and a quilt gets tossed about willy-nilly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like Sherlock, I am not dead.  
> Much like John, you guys probably don't believe me.
> 
> I'm exceptionally sorry. I suck, I know. Please forgive me.

Enjolras was dragged slowly into wakefulness by invisible hands that smelled peculiarly of charcoal and smoke. He forced his eyes open, and was immediately met by Grantaire’s face. The artist’s expression was surprised, his eyes wide and his nose a breath away from Enjolras’. His hands hovered in mid-air.

“You’re dreaming,” Grantaire whispered urgently. Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Fuck. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just was trying to fix the blankets.”

“What are you doing, anyways?” Enjolras asked, moving away from Grantaire to sit up against the headboard. Grantaire climbed into bed beside him, his skin cold to the touch. Enjolras threw the quilt on his legs over Grantaire.

“Just drawing,” Grantaire answered, pressing his fingertips into the hollow below Enjolras’ neck. Enjolras reached out and took Grantaire’s chin in his hand, raising Grantaire’s head until they made eye contact. Grantaire frowned, his lips thinning as he pushed them together. “I smoked. Once. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’ll work on it,” Enjolras murmured. He yawned, and Grantaire wiggled away from him until he was free.

“Go back to sleep,” Grantaire insisted at the same time Enjolras extended his hand and ordered, “Get back here.”

Grantaire hesitated for a moment, then laughed. “Let me just shut the window,” he said. Enjolras nodded, letting his head fall back to rest against the wall, watching as Grantaire stepped over his art supplies on the floor to tug the stuck window shut, halting the breeze that Enjolras had only just noticed was brushing harshly across his skin. He snatched the quilt again, pulling it up to his chin. Grantaire turned back around and laughed again.

“You look like a child!” Grantaire exclaimed. Enjolras scowled at him, even as Grantaire climbed back onto the bed on his knees, prying Enjolras’ fingers off the edge of the quilt and tugging the quilt down and away from his neck.

“It’s chilly,” Enjolras murmured. Grantaire ran his hands reverently down Enjolras’ sides, his head bowed. Enjolras reached out and caught Grantaire’s hands in his own, twining their fingers together and holding their hands up in mid-air. “I’m chilled,” he said.

“I can fix that,” Grantaire replied, letting their hands fall onto the bed on either side of Enjolras’ waist as he leaned down, pressing a light kiss to the hinge of Enjolras’ jaw. Enjolras made a small noise, and Grantaire smiled against his skin.

“Off,” Enjolras said, his voice tight. Grantaire sat up and frowned; Enjolras pulled his hands free and pulled at the zippered hoodie Grantaire was wearing. “Take it off.”

“Oh.” Grantaire grinned. “Alright.” He unzipped it half-way and tugged one sleeve off, then smiled cheekily at Enjolras, who smacked his bare upper arm.

“Don’t be a tease,” Enjolras barely grumbled before he had yanked the zipper all the way down and off and was already ripping the hoodie backwards off of Grantaire. Grantaire laughed again, all flushed skin and overwhelming emotion.

“Don’t you, then.” Grantaire pulled the quilt out from under him, tossing it aside along with his sweatshirt. Enjolras shoved his hands away in favor of pulling Grantaire’s boxers off himself. Grantaire made a soft noise before he shifted, his hands falling to Enjolras’ shoulders as his lips lingered on the blonde’s neck. Enjolras shivered before he could stop himself, and Grantaire paused in his path, raising his head slightly until their mouths was a centimeter apart.

“I can go get you coffee or something?” Grantaire offered. Enjolras shook his head, reaching down past the bed and snatching the quilt off the floor. He threw it over Grantaire and wrapped his arms around the artist under the quilt. Grantaire grinned and rolled them over until he was on his back and Enjolras was snuggled into his front. He tugged the quilt out from under his ass and snapped it out over Enjolras, tugging it up around the blonde’s shoulders. Enjolras sighed into the valley shadowed by Grantaire’s collarbone.

“You’re not going anywhere, not now,” Enjolras mumbled, his voice muffled by Grantaire’s skin. He pushed his arms forward, shoving one arm under Grantaire’s back, the other up against his side, curling against the bare skin of his shoulder. Grantaire pulled his arms up around Enjolras, letting his hands clasp together and rest in the dip of Enjolras’ back. “Sorry.”

“For what now?” Grantaire murmured into Enjolras’ mess of long hair. Enjolras, half-asleep and seeking warmth, nuzzled his face into Grantaire’s chest, pushing at him with his cheek until he was comfortable, his head dipping down slightly. His eyes unfocused, and the blurred colors of Grantaire’s tattoos all blended together before him.

“I dunno,” Enjolras said sleepily. He yawned, and his eyes closed.

“Go back to sleep,” Grantaire whispered for the second time that morning. Enjolras hummed in assent, and seemed to drift off almost all at once. Grantaire shifted, tucking his chin out of the way of Enjolras’ hair, his dark stubble just barely brushing against Enjolras’ pale forehead. He inhaled deeply, and Enjolras sighed in his almost-sleep. “Love you.”

“Mm.”

“I do.”

“Mhm-hmm.”

Grantaire grinned and pressed a kiss to Enjolras’ forehead. “Sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I don't know if you don't saw this, but check it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w30Irt3m_jU
> 
> blagdog's cover of "I Will Follow You Into The Dark". Painful enough on it's own, but listen carefully; he changed some lyrics around.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or @NLMello or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions. Post on tumblr about this story with the tag "stay irresponsible". And, of course, comments are always appreciated.


	39. The One Where There Is A Series of Unfortunate Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cosette almost gets stabbed in the back, Aurelie knows more than she lets on, Courfeyrac's fashion sense is shit, and Grantaire is the bomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neeka asked for "Grantaire getting badly injured somehow?? Maybe mugged and stabbed, maybe protecting someone, maybe a protest gone badly wrong, just anything like that. I want like, hospital level "oh God is he gunna make it" injured". 
> 
> I live to serve.
> 
> So, see end notes for a warning.

“No, not for you,” Grantaire murmured, prying Aurelie’s hand off the takeout bag. Cosette laughed. “It’s not for you, Ellie. It’s for me and Auntie Ettie, not for you.”

Alphonse leaned towards Grantaire, nearly pitching himself forward out of Cosette’s hold. He, too, reached for the bag, and only released it when Cosette tapped on his hand.

“You’ve got to teach me that,” Grantaire commented. He hefted Aurelie, letting her settle on his hip. She tipped her head back, the takeout bag forgotten as she stared up at the dark night sky. She tucked her chin next to his jaw and yawned.

“Are you _sure_ this is where we parked?” Cosette asked, for - at least - the fourth time. Grantaire turned his head to look around the street; Aurelie took advantage of his new position, reaching up to grab at his ponytail of dark, curly hair. He laughed and waited until Cosette pulled them apart before he kissed the top of Aurelie’s head.

“I thought it was,” Grantaire finally answered, turning his whole body to save his hair from being pulled. Aurelie let her head fall against his chest. “I mean, I might’ve- Cosette.” A thin man had appeared behind Cosette, his hands shaking. He stepped right up to her back. “Don’t move, Cosette, okay?”

“Grantaire, what-”

“Listen,” his voice light and deep. Alphonse raised his head. Cosette stiffened. “I don’t want- look, listen, look, I _really_ don’t want any trouble, alright? I’ve got a knife- I just- I need money, I need money really badly. So if you’ll just- look, alright, just- I just want your wallets. That’s it.”

“Hey, alright,” Grantaire said back. He leaned forward, taking Alphonse from Cosette and setting both children on the ground behind him. He dropped the bag and reached for his sweatshirt pocket. Cosette stood completely still, her eyes tracking Grantaire as he moved. He met her eyes for the briefest of seconds, and he jerked his head. She ducked down, and his fist came forward, connecting with the guy’s nose with a disgusting _crack_. Cosette swiftly knocked the guy over with a leg sweeping into his knees. Grantaire grabbed the guy by the collar of his t-shirt; the guy reacted, even as he went down, driving the blade of his knife into Grantaire’s chest.

Grantaire let all of his breath out in a sudden, short burst of air. His grip on the man weakened, and he stuttered back a step. Cosette darted away from them, scooping up Aurelie and Alphonse and sprinting behind a car. Grantaire released the man, only to use his two free hands to grip the handle of the knife and yank it out. He held it out in his left hand, his right pressed to the hole in his chest.

“Go,” Grantaire ordered. The man looked over his shoulder at Cosette, and Grantaire lunged without stopping to think. A fight for the knife ensued, and the man’s hand closed over Grantaire’s on the handle. He jerked their conjoined hands up, and Grantaire’s head snapped to the side. He raised his other hand, grabbing the man by the hair and dragging him down. “Go!”

The man released his hand and, taking in the appearance of Grantaire, took off like a shot down the dark street. Grantaire dropped the knife a second later, falling to his knees, his vision swimming. Cosette’s face appeared in front of his. Her mouth was moving, but his ears were ringing. He blinked twice, then shut his eyes.

* * *

Jehan, naked and sitting cross-legged on their bed, shook his head, dislodging the leftover daisy heads from his long, tangled curls of hair. Courfeyrac stripped his own t-shirt off, tugging it over his head and tossing it to the floor. Jehan tsked at him, though he smiled.

“You couldn’t put that in the hamper?” Jehan laughed, plucking the daisy heads out of the bed and setting them on the nightstand. He settled back against the headboard, his long body pale and bare. Courfeyrac just grinned widely at him.

“I am _far_ too distracted to put that in the hamper right now,” Courfeyrac teased. Jehan rolled his eyes, even as Courfeyrac tugged his jeans and pants off and climbed up the bed. He let his knees settle on either side of Jehan’s hips. “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” Jehan answered, his fingertips trailing up Courfeyrac’s sides. “How was yours?”

“I’ve had better, but I’ve had worse,” Courfeyrac replied, leaning down until his lips were pressed against Jehan’s neck. Jehan tipped his head back and made a strangled noise; Courfeyrac grinned against his skin and shifted to bite at his collarbone. A harsh knock at the door startled them both, and Courfeyrac snapped upwards, his spine straightening. The door opened without hesitation, and Courfeyrac flailed, falling off the bed. Jehan threw a pillow down at him and tugged a blanket up over himself as Marius flung himself into the room.

“Grantaire’s in the hospital,” Marius breathed, his chest heaving. “Cosette just called me, some guy tried to mug them, stabbed Grantaire.”

While Marius held his chest, trying to catch his breath, Jehan and Courfeyrac began frantically dressing. Jehan looked up at him, his brow furrowed, his face white. “Is Cosette okay? Is-”

“She’s okay, kids are okay, all okay, just Grantaire,” Marius assured them. Jehan buttoned a pair of loose slacks - probably Courfeyrac’s, then - and threw himself off the bed. Courfeyrac pulled on his pants and a button-down that barely fit. Jehan pulled a loose shirt over his head and dragged Courfeyrac after him down the stairs.

“Did anyone call Enjolras yet? He had to work tonight,” Jehan asked, climbing in the passenger seat of Courfeyrac’s beat-up clunker of a car. Marius slid into the back seat.

“Not yet, he got dropped off, he doesn’t have a car-”

“We’ll pick him up on the way,” Courfeyrac interrupted Marius, starting the car and throwing it into reverse immediately. “Where’s everyone else? Cars’re gone, house is empty-”

“Went to the bar,” Marius informed him, tugging out his phone. “I’ll call Joly, he’ll tell them, he’ll tell everyone, bring them there. I’ll call Enjolras, tell him we’re coming-”

“How is he?” Jehan asked, cutting him off. Marius raised his head.

“Enjolras?”

“Grantaire, Marius. Grantaire, how’s he doing?”

Marius fell silent. Courfeyrac sped up. The only sound in the car was the rapid clicking and tapping of Marius’ fingers on his phone, and then his low murmuring as he explained the situation to Joly. When he hung up the phone, the air in the car seemed thick.

“I-”

“I’ll do it,” Jehan offered. He turned around, extending his open palm to Marius. “Let me see your phone.”

Marius laid his phone in Jehan’s palm and leaned back in his seat. Jehan turned to Courfeyrac. “How far away are we from the bakery?”

“About two minutes,” Courfeyrac answered, his usual grin gone, replaced with a frightened, serious frown. Jehan dialed Enjolras’ number and held the phone to his ear. The car was silent; the tinny ringing on the other end could be heard. There was a click, followed by Enjolras’ voicemail. Without a word, Jehan hung up and redialed. Ringing. Voicemail. Hang up. Redial. Ringing. Voicemail. Hang up. Redial. Ringing-

Ringing-

Ringing-

“What _is_ it, Marius?” Enjolras’ voice exclaimed on the other end. Jehan shut his eyes.

“It’s not Marius, it’s me.” Jehan paused. “Jehan, it’s Jehan.”

Silence.

“Why do you have Marius’ phone? Is he okay?”

“No, Marius- Marius is fine.”

“What’s going on? Is everyone-”

“It’s Grantaire.”

Silence again.

“What happened?”

“He was out with Cosette and Alphie and Ellie and they got mugged.”

“Is he… Is he?”

“He’s alive. Everyone else is okay. We’re coming to pick you up.”

Silence again.

“Okay.”

Click.

Jehan exhaled and passed the phone back to Marius. “He’ll be ready.”

“How’d he take it?”

“That’s the thing,” Jehan said, scratching at the back of his head. “He didn’t.”

The car fell silent again as Courfeyrac drove. Jehan drew his legs up onto the seat, tucking his face in near his thighs, his chin resting on his knees. He wrapped his arms around his shins and exhaled slowly. Courfeyrac placed one comforting hand on the crown of Jehan’s head. Marius tipped his head, his ear pressing against the window. He stared out at the buildings flying by. They remained in silence.

When they reached the bakery where Enjolras worked part-time, Jehan climbed out of the car without a word after Courfeyrac parked on the curb. Jehan weaved in between people on the sidewalk to shove the door of the bakery open. Marius watched, his head still pressed against the window, as Jehan went up to the counter and asked for Enjolras. Enjolras appeared around the corner, his long hair tied up, his skin flushed red. Enjolras came out from behind the counter; Jehan reached forward, tucking a strand of hair behind Enjolras’ ear before he hugged him.

Courfeyrac hiccupped. Marius jumped.

Marius put his hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. Courfeyrac placed his hand over his lightly, then let his head fall, his forehead resting against their conjoined hands, his neck twisted. Marius bowed his head beside Courfeyrac’s.

In the next moment, the doors to the car opened. Jehan slid back into the passenger seat while Enjolras took the back seat beside Marius. Marius released Courfeyrac to pull Enjolras against his side.

“Cosette’s been texting me,” Marius murmured. Enjolras let his head rest on Marius’ shoulder. “He’s in surgery right now.”

“What do they think?” Enjolras asked as Courfeyrac started up the car and pulled away from the bakery. Jehan turned around in his seat, leaning over the center console to pull Enjolras’ apron off for him. Enjolras sat forward and let him.

“They don’t know,” Marius answered. “They don’t know.”

* * *

Six hours later found Enjolras sitting stiffly in the hospital waiting room, his long curls of blonde hair a mess around his head, Aurelie asleep in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. He stared at the wall opposite him. Eponine was curled up in the seat next to him, her head on his other shoulder. She had been asleep for nearly an hour. Enjolras was trying not to move, so as not to wake either of them.

Cosette sat on Eponine’s other side, texting on her phone. Enjolras’ eyes darted to her screen for a brief moment, long enough to confirm she was talking to her father. Marius was cross-legged on the floor, bracketed by Cosette’s legs. Alphonse was asleep in his lap. Bossuet was sprawled on the ground, fast asleep, with Musichetta tucked into his side on the floor. Joly was laying on top of him, his head pillowed on Bossuet’s chest. Jehan had taken the seat opposite Enjolras, his knees bent, his face buried in his thighs.

Courfeyrac was stretched out on the floor, his feet between Enjolras’ feet, one of his hands reaching up and out to hold onto Jehan’s ankle. Feuilly had his head on Courfeyrac’s stomach; his body was curled up into a ball as he slept. Combeferre sat beside Enjolras on his other side, filling out forms for Grantaire, murmuring a question to Enjolras every now and then. Bahorel was pacing back and forth in the short space, stepping over sleeping bodies when necessary. Gavroche, fast asleep on the floor, had his head on Musichetta’s thigh.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre whispered under his breath. Enjolras turned his head a degree to the left. “What’s Grantaire’s mother’s maiden name?”

“God, I don’t…” Enjolras shifted his head, craning his neck minutely. Cosette tapped Eponine’s shoulder; the brunette raised her head tiredly.

“What’s Grantaire’s mother’s maiden name?” Cosette asked softly. Eponine blinked.

“Grantaire _is_ his mother's maiden name.” Eponine leaned forward, looking at the clipboard in Combeferre’s hands. “D’you want me to fill that out?”

Combeferre hesitated before passing it over. “Sure, sure.”

Eponine took the clipboard of papers and the pen, then promptly snorted. “You don’t know his first name?”

“He never told me,” Combeferre hissed back. “I’ve never even seen his license.”

“To be fair,” Marius murmured, “he hates his name. He never tells anyone.”

“It’s JeanBaptiste,” Enjolras said softly. Aurelie shifted. He dropped his head, bowing it over hers. “JeanBaptiste. His middle name’s Sebastien.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cosette said, leaning over to look at the paperwork in Eponine’s hands. “Why doesn’t he use it?”

“He’s named after his father,” Eponine whispered. Cosette looked down at her hands.

* * *

Enjolras returned to the group after his conversation with Grantaire’s assigned physician. Everyone had woken up at least an hour ago; every seat in their section of the waiting room was filled. Enjolras took his seat beside Combeferre again.

“How is he?” Eponine asked quietly. Bossuet passed Aurelie back up to Enjolras.

“He’s not,” Enjolras began. He cleared his throat. “They’re not sure if he’s…”

“Okay,” Eponine whispered. She put her arm around Enjolras and pulled herself into his side. “Okay. It’s okay.”

* * *

“What time is it?”

“6:36 in the morning.”

“What day is it?”

“Maybe… Tuesday?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

* * *

“One of you can see him,” Grantaire’s physician - who had introduced herself as Dr. Montoya - informed them. “You can bring his daughter, if you’d like, so long as she doesn’t touch anything.”

“Go, Enjolras,” Eponine said at once. Enjolras’ brow furrowed a bit. “No, really. Go ahead. Take Ellie. Just tell me how he’s doing.” Eponine paused. “If it’s bad…”

“I’ll lie,” Enjolras joked flatly. Eponine forced a smile.

“Yeah.” Eponine rubbed his arm. “You’ll lie.”

Enjolras stood, stretching out his stiff legs. Aurelie shifted against his chest, squirming until she had her face pressed into his collarbone. Her eyes peeked over his shoulder. Eponine smiled at her. She ducked her head down. Enjolras adjusted his grip and followed Dr. Montoya.

Enjolras had never seen Grantaire so still, was his first thought. He shifted away from Dr. Montoya. She was talking, but the words were flying over his head. Aurelie wriggled around until Enjolras turned her around. She stared at Grantaire, her large brown eyes looking him over. Enjolras held her tighter.

Grantaire’s hair was a mess, he noticed second. He stepped forward and shifted Aurelie into one arm so he could reach out with his other hand and smooth Grantaire’s hair away from his face. His eyes were shut, his head tilted to the side. His skin was whiter than usual, devoid of any of its usual flush. He had a stark white bandage on his neck, and his blankets were dragged midway up his chest. The edge of another bandage was visible under the blanket, over his heart. Enjolras let his hand fall down, dragging it over Grantaire’s skin until it rested over his bare chest. Nothing the doctor was saying registered until she touched his wrist and looked at him expectantly, like she was waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry, what?” Enjolras asked.

“If you need to say anything,” Dr. Montoya repeated patiently, “I’d suggest you say it now.”

Enjolras stared at her for a few more rapid beats of his heart before he turned his attention back to Grantaire.

“Okay.”

“I’ll leave you alone. If you need anything, I’ll be right outside.”

“Okay.”

Dr. Montoya squeezed his wrist before she released him and left the room. The door shut softly behind her. Enjolras sat on the very edge of Grantaire’s bed, right by his hip. Aurelie reached out, and Enjolras set her down. He pulled her hand away from his chest and placed it on his shoulder. She ducked her head down onto his upper arm and sighed. Enjolras rubbed her back.

“It’s okay,” Enjolras murmured. Aurelie pressed her face into Grantaire’s skin and wailed once. Enjolras scooped her up immediately, pressing her into his chest and shushing her. When he looked up, Grantaire was squinting at him. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Grantaire’s eyes flickered over to Aurelie. “S’wron’?”

“She’s afraid,” Enjolras answered. Grantaire’s focus returned to Enjolras. Enjolras set Aurelie down on the bed; she buried her face in his arm again. Grantaire’s fingers twitched. “They told me to say what I need to say.”

Grantaire blinked, then shut his eyes. Enjolras waited until he opened them again. “‘m I…”

“You better not.” Enjolras distracted himself by running his fingers through Aurelie’s short hair. “They said you might. It’s likely you will. But you better fucking not, Grantaire.”

Grantaire frowned slightly. “Not n’front ‘f Ellie.”

“Sorry.” Enjolras smoothed Grantaire’s blanket. “I’m so sorry.”

Grantaire stared up at him, then over at Aurelie. She lifted her head and smiled at him. Grantaire smiled back.

“Don’t be sorry,” Grantaire said, slowly, articulating every word. He kept his eyes on Aurelie. “Take care of her.”

“You know I will.” Enjolras bowed his head over Grantaire’. Grantaire exhaled. “You better not make me, though.”

“Mm.” Grantaire lifted his hand carefully. Aurelie shifted, snuggling into his side. Enjolras took his hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Enjolras said. Grantaire smiled at him again and yawned before shutting his eyes. “I love you, too.”

Aurelie refused to be moved.

* * *

“If she doesn’t stop screaming, she’s going to wake him up,” Gavroche hissed, motioning towards Aurelie. Eponine lifted Aurelie up and away from Courfeyrac.

“You’re good at many things, Courf, but you’re shit at this,” Eponine commented, hugging Aurelie to her chest and humming something she vaguely remembered Grantaire humming to her before. “Did you dress her, too? She’s wearing so much black. She looks like death. Grantaire’d hate that.”

“Grantaire’s not here,” Courfeyrac reminded her as he adjusted Aurelie’s sock.

“I could be,” Grantaire called from the living room, “if you’re dressing my daughter like a Grim Reaper!”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to be asleep!”

“I’ve slept enough,” Grantaire said, dragging himself into the kitchen. “God, Courf, she looks like she’s come to haunt me.”

“Coming from the ghost himself,” Courfeyrac teased. Grantaire shoved at him and took Aurelie from Eponine.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious,” Grantaire deadpanned. “Come on, the movie’s almost starting and we’re not going to wait forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there are knives, stabbings, a mugging, and hospitals. 
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or @NLMello or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions. Post on tumblr about this story with the tag "stay irresponsible". And, of course, comments are always appreciated.


	40. The One Where Grantaire And Jehan Get Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jehan is nervous, Grantaire is unsure of Jehan's sureness, the two of them get tattoos, and a perfect metaphor is developed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for/inspired by The Tattoo (which you can see in part three of the Stay Irresponsible series!).
> 
> This is a flashback, which I'm sure you got. But, still.

“Are you sure?” Grantaire asked, for what was possibly the eighth time. Jehan fought the urge to unlock the doors and shove him out of the moving vehicle into the road.

“I’m sure,” Jehan promised, unfolding the paper in his hand and looking it over again. “You know what? I think I am going to go with the greens.”

“Why’s that?” Grantaire asked, keeping his eyes forward as they turned into the parking lot of the tattoo parlor. He parked easily and sat back when they were still.

“That’s Courf’s favorite color,” Jehan answered, and he smiled. Grantaire waved a hand dismissively at him.

“What if you guys break up or something?” Grantaire asked. When Jehan frowned at him, he raised his hands, palms-forward, peaceably. “I’m just asking. It’s a reasonable question.”

“Green’s a nice color,” Jehan said softly. He seemed to think for a moment before continuing. “It doesn’t matter. If we break up, I mean. Well, it _would_ matter, but- in terms of the tattoo. He’s meant so much to me, and he’s been such a big part of why I’m getting this.”

“To show how much this group has done for us,” Grantaire clarified, and Jehan nodded. Grantaire reached over and took Jehan’s hand in his; Jehan threaded their fingers together and looked down at Grantaire’s drawing of the tattoo again. “I’m still getting mine in primary colors.”

“Is red the biggest?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just curious,” Jehan deflected, smiling. He released Grantaire’s hand, folded up the paper, and unlocked the door. Grantaire took the signal for what it was and got out of the car with Jehan, joining him on his side and tangling their hands together again. Jehan held the drawing tightly in his free hand. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire answered honestly. “But it’ll be worth it.”

“If that isn’t the perfect metaphor for this whole thing, I don’t know what is,” Jehan laughed, and Grantaire kissed his temple before leading him inside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck. I am literally trash. This isn't even long. I have no excuses. I will do everything I can to make it up to you.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or @NLMello or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions. Post on tumblr about this story with the tag "stay irresponsible". And, of course, comments are always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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